


Good Morning, Afghanistan

by cornchipmeteor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bombing, F/F, Fluff, Guns, Military, Military AU, Oorah, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, War, do ask do tell, operation enduring fluff, starts fluffy af and spirals into a feels vortex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 113,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornchipmeteor/pseuds/cornchipmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staff Sergeant Clarke Griffin, US Air Force. Sergeant Lexa Carey, US Marine Corps. Afghanistan is already dangerous enough without their feelings getting in the way. But let's be real, these ladies are experts at falling in love in a war zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ice Creamed

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this story to be a short, fluffy excuse to put my favorite The 100 ladies into uniforms, but it spiraled out of control into a 100k monstrosity. Things get heavy, but the OTPs live and everything turns out well in the end. Some story elements are based on my own deployments with the Air Force, but with a lot more drinking, sex, and peril. 
> 
> The chapters get longer (and better IMO) as things go, if you're reading along and conflicted about whether to continue. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr if you like! (cornchipmeteor)
> 
> Here's a list of the military ranking structure with abbreviations, organized by branch. Sorry that the formatting is a bit wonky--I couldn't find a better way to do it. These come up again and again, so keep this list handy if you care about deciphering the abbreviations. 
> 
> AIR FORCE - Enlisted
> 
> E-1, Airman Basic, AB  
> E-2, Airman, Amn  
> E-3, Airman 1st Class, A1C  
> E-4, Senior Airman, SrA  
> E-5, Staff Sergeant, SSgt  
> E-6, Technical Sergeant, TSgt  
> E-7, Master Sergeant, MSgt  
> E-8, Senior Master Sergeant, SMSgt  
> E-9, Chief Master Sergeant, CMSgt
> 
> MARINE CORPS - Enlisted
> 
> E-1, Private, Pvt  
> E-2, Private First Class, PFC  
> E-3, Lance Corporal, LCpl  
> E-4, Corporal, Cpl  
> E-5, Sergeant, Sgt  
> E-6, Staff Sergeant, SSgt  
> E-7, Gunnery Sergeant, GySgt  
> E-8, Master Sergeant, MSgt  
> E-9, Sergeant Major, SgtMaj
> 
>    
> AIR FORCE and MARINE CORPS - Officers
> 
> O-1, 2nd Lieutenant, 2Lt  
> O-2, 1st Lieutenant, 1Lt  
> O-3, Captain, Capt  
> O-4, Major, Maj  
> O-5, Lieutenant Colonel, LtCol  
> O-6, Colonel, Col  
> O-7, Brigadier General, BGen  
> O-8, Major General, MGen  
> O-9, Lieutenant General, LGen  
> O-10, General, Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious Marine makes Clarke's deployment much more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abbreviations in this chapter: SSgt (Staff Sergeant) and Sgt (Sergeant).
> 
> (Lots of Air Force and Marine Corps ranks will be coming up, so I suggest looking up a cheat sheet for those).
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Dude, she was totalling checking me out.” 

SSgt Jasper pulled anxiously at his sorry excuse for a deployment mustache, as he watched a female soldier walk past them and out of the dining facility. Multiple rows of long tables filled the room, although only half of them were occupied this close to the end of dinner hours.

“She was definitely not checking you out,” A1C Monty muttered into his mashed potatoes. “And besides, she wasn’t even that hot.”

“Not that… are you crazy?” Jasper was up in arms, literally and figuratively. The M9 pistol in his shoulder harness flopped against the waist of his flight suit as he flailed in agitation. “She was definitely a 10.”

Clarke was already used to conversations like this from these two (and every other male on base), but she decided to try to inject some sanity into their world anyway. “We all know that deployed 10’s are 3’s or 4’s back home… and I have to agree with Monty here. She’s absolutely not a 10.”

Clarke frowned at what she had just said. Was she seriously objectifying women who walked past them in the chow hall, too? Raven would have smacked her upside the head for that… or joined in, Clarke couldn’t be sure. They had both been deployed for what seemed like forever (even if forever was only two months).

Clarke had been spending most of her time with the men in her unit since she had arrived in Kandahar, and it was beginning to show. There were so few women there that it was actually a relief whenever Clarke saw one. Not that she was ogling them, or the men on base either, but… it had been a long time. 

Besides, it didn’t matter how many attractive men or women were on base--Clarke wasn’t looking for romance or sex or anything of the sort. They were deployed with their aeromedical evacuation squadron for six months, and they had a mission to complete. Clarke didn’t have the time or energy to waste on a deployment fling, even if it would be a nice distraction from the injured patients, the rocket attacks, and the horrible excuse for food on her plate.

“There’s already enough competition in this hell hole for you to be checking out the ladies too, Griffin,” Jasper sighed dramatically, scraping his plate clean.

“I wouldn’t say it’s much of a competition,” Clarke declared, earning a high-five from Monty and rolled eyes from Jasper. 

“Think they got chocolate ice cream today?” Clarke asked as she got up from the bench. Why continue eating slightly green roast beef, if she could eat ice cream instead? 

“They haven’t had that flavor in weeks,” Monty said, sighing. “I’m beginning to think this may be the Great Ice Cream Famine of 2015.” 

Clarke laughed at him, before making her way across the chow hall. Some soldiers watched a baseball game playing on one of the TVs with enthusiasm, while local Afghan workers cleaned up the tables that weren’t in use. A group of Marines was making their way through the serving line, piling food into to-go containers.

As she walked toward the dessert area, Clarke realized in consternation that the Afghan man serving the ice cream was glaring at her--again. She had never seen that man smile, and she didn’t know how a person seemingly so absent of joy ended up dispensing ice cream.

As she approached, she put on what she thought was her most charming smile. She already knew the tan flight suit did wonders for her hips and ass, so she was confident she could win this guy over if she wanted to. 

“Hello again, how are you?” Clarke asked with a smile. She waited for a response, but his glare only intensified. 

Clarke gulped and decided this had been a bad idea. She just needed to get her ice cream and get out. “I’d like a scoop of the chocolate, please…”

But when Clarke finally looked down at the display case, she realized there was only one flavor left. Mint. She hated mint.

She felt someone sidle up to her left with a to-go container full of food: a huge salad, chicken breast, and some potatoes. Clarke glanced up to see a young female Marine and then found that she couldn’t look away. 

Clarke had never seen her before--and she was sure she would remember if she had. Sure, being deployed tended to lower a person’s standards in what they found attractive in other people, but there was no denying it: this woman was gorgeous.

She had prominent cheekbones, full lips, and thick, wavy brown hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her wide shoulders hinted at muscles that were concealed under her Marine camouflage uniform. She was slightly taller than Clarke and had an M16 rifle slung over her back. Opposite the US Marine Corps tape on her chest was the name “Carey,” while the three black chevrons over crossed rifles on her lapels indicated she was a Sergeant.

But it was her eyes--large, green, bright, piercing--that truly caught Clarke’s attention. 

Clarke only realized she was staring when she noticed that the Marine--Sgt Carey--was staring right back. 

Sgt Carey finally cleared her throat and looked down at the display window, before returning her gaze to Clarke. “Not a lot of selection today, is there?” 

Her voice was silky soft and higher-pitched than Clarke expected. It wasn’t the voice of a battle-hardened Marine, or so Clarke thought.

Without skipping a beat, the Sgt Carey turned to the ice cream server and spouted a long phrase in a language that Clarke didn’t understand. Pashto? Dari? All that Clarke knew was that the Marine sounded remarkably fluent in it.

The man’s eyes lit up, and Clarke swore he was smiling under his thick beard. He hurried off behind a closed door that said “Authorized Personnel Only,” leaving the two of them standing alone in front of the case.

Clarke frowned in amazement at Sgt Carey. “How did you… what did you even say to him?”

But the only response Sgt Carey gave her was the slightest upturning of her lips. It was so subtle that Clarke wondered if she had imagined it. But for some reason, it was enough to cause the blood to rush to Clarke’s cheeks.

A moment later, the man returned with a bin of ice cream and silently scooped up a bowl for each of them, filling them to the brim.

Sgt Carey said what Clarke presumed to be “thank you” to the man before turning to Clarke with a slightly raised eyebrow. “I hope you like chocolate.”

Clarke stared in bewilderment. “What did you say to him? All he ever does is glare at me.”

The Marine shrugged a shoulder as if she didn’t care about it, but Clarke could see how smug she was. “I just promised to buy him a dirty magazine the next time I’m at the BX. Our cultures may be different, but the men are the same.”

Clarke laughed at that, looking back to Jasper and Monty at her table. They were staring unabashedly at them. Jasper even gave her a none-too-subtle thumbs up.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Clarke murmured.

Sgt Carey followed her gaze, and Jasper and Monty quickly returned their attention to the plates in front of them as if the white ceramic was the most interesting things in the world. 

“Friends of yours?” the Marine asked curiously.

“You could say that,” Clarke said, frowning. “Friends, co-workers, endless sources of frustration. Kind of depends on the day.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Sgt Carey said with a hint of amusement

She glanced back to the Marines who were waiting impatiently near the chow hall exit, and the movement only accentuated Sgt Carey’s sharp jawline.

Clarke swallowed hard. No one had the right to look that good while deployed.

“Sergeant!”

Clarke’s attention was caught by the yelling brunette Marine who was waiting for Sgt Carey. She was petite and yet still looked like she could more than hold her own against the much larger male Marines at her side.

“Quit your flirting!” the brunette continued. “Gunny’s gonna have our asses if we don’t get back by 2100.” 

Sgt Carey sighed loudly, closing her eyes. “Speaking of endless sources of frustration…” 

But Clarke was enjoying the red flush of the Marine’s cheeks. “Flirting, huh? Is that what was going on?”

Sgt Carey’s lips--which Clarke had certainly not been studying--broke into the largest smile Clarke had seen from her yet. “That depends on if it was working or not.”

Yes. It had been. Obviously.

But while Clarke was working out a slightly less embarrassing response, Sgt Carey looked down at Clarke’s name tape on the chest of her flight suit. Even though Clarke knew she was just reading her name and rank, it didn’t stop her heartbeat from quickening.

“It was nice meeting you, Staff Sergeant Clarke Griffin,” Sgt Carey said in a soft but deliberate voice. 

Hearing the Marine say her full name was enough to render Clarke mute on the spot. And even though Sgt Carey hadn’t smiled when she turned and left, her gaze had been so intense that Clarke knew she would be thinking about those green eyes for a long time.

Clarke belatedly realized she hadn’t moved from in front of the ice cream case while she had been staring at the Marine leave--and to her credit, she had only glanced down at her ass once. 

But of course Sgt Carey chose that exact moment to glance over her shoulder, and she caught Clarke red-handed. Clarke knew she wasn’t imagining the smirk that sprung up on the Marine’s lips, or the flutters in her own stomach at the sight. 

But Clarke could feel the heat of the ice cream server’s glare, and several Soldiers were approaching to get their dessert fix before the chow hall closed. She turned to go back to her table, fully aware of the shit that Jasper and Monty were going to give her, when she noticed a small object on the floor.

It was a photograph, folded in half, crinkled from repeated opening. Clarke bent down to pick it up and unfolded it curiously. It displayed an attractive, raven-haired woman, wearing civilian clothes and smiling coyly at the camera. Clarke flipped it over, but there was nothing written on the back.

It had to be Sgt Carey’s, and it had to be valuable to her. Clarke considered running outside to return it, but she doubted she would be able to find the Marine in the dark, cluttered camp outside.

Resigned, Clarke tucked the photo into her flight suit pocket. She could figure out how to get it back to the Marine later. The thought made her smile for whatever reason. 

Clarke crossed the chow hall and sat down cautiously across from Jasper and Monty. They were both grinning like idiots. 

“What are you smiling at?” Clarke asked grumpily, taking a bite of her ice cream. It was already starting to become a pool of liquid chocolate in the bowl.

“We may be smiling at a certain Airman who had a major flirt fest with a certain Marine hottie,” Jasper said with excitement.

Clarke rolled her eyes at that. That may have been exactly what had happened, but there was no way in hell she would admit that to Jasper. 

“How do you know that, when you couldn’t even hear what we were talking about?” Clarke asked

“Sometimes body language can express so much more than words…” Jasper rocked his hips around comically while he sat, eliciting a glare from Clarke. “But seriously, she was shooting some major lust eyes at you, and you shot them right back.” 

“I saw it too,” Monty added. “Irrefutable lust eyes.”

It wasn’t worth arguing with them when Clarke that they were right. “Whatever. Just help me eat this,” she said, placing her bowl of ice cream in the middle of the table.

It had been flirting. Clarke had liked it. And judging by how Sergeant Carey’s cheeks had reddened ever so slightly, Clarke thought that she had enjoyed it, too. 

And with the folded photo in her pocket, Clarke had the perfect excuse to see her again.


	2. Do Ask, Do Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew's pre-flight briefing turns into a glorious opportunity to tease Clarke about her latest infatuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the next chapter! I decided to use people's first names for now, even if it's unrealistic. 
> 
> Abbreviations:  
> SrA (Senior Airman), Maj (Major), A1C (Airman 1st Class)

“Alright, you all know I’m Senior Airman Murphy, but Captain Hardass insists that I introduce myself before every single one of these briefings--”

“More briefing, less insubordination, Airman Murphy,” Maj Kane broke in before SrA Murphy started full-on ranting about his superior officer.

“Right, of course, sir,” SrA Murphy conceded but still with a hint of attitude. 

Murphy had arrived at Kandahar two months before, the same time as Clarke and her crew, but he was already the bitterest, most salty person at the squadron by far. Everyone became fed up eventually with the routine and monotony of deployed life, but Murphy had done it in record time.

The entire crew was sitting around a surprisingly high-quality wooden table inside of the briefing tent. While the Air Force could evidently afford solid wood tables, it couldn’t seem to afford actual buildings to contain those tables. Their entire squadron was comprised of large, military tents, that only partially kept out the sand and heat of the desert.

“Lords and ladies,” SrA Murphy continued at the front of the room in front of the projector screen, “please ensure that any electronic devices to include pagers, PDAs, cassette players, and--for the love of God, Reyes, again?!”

At least SrA Raven Reyes had the decency to look slightly abashed as she pulled out the cell phone from her tan flight suit pocket that had started belting out a ringtone of Beyoncé’s “Run the World.”

She ran out of the room to go place her phone into the box for electronic devices outside the tent. 

“This will be the last time, I swear!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Major Kane looked pained. “Let’s go on with it. I’m quickly losing patience with this briefing.”

Sitting next to Clarke, A1C Wells leaned over and whispered “How long until you think he cracks?”

Clarke placed a well-placed kick to his shin with her tan combat boot, but couldn’t completely conceal her smile. Maj Kane was often flustered by the enlisted personnel in the squadron. He practically bled Air Force blue, and he couldn’t understand how the younger members of the squadron could joke around when they had a mission to accomplish. Clarke could relate somewhat--she took her job seriously and thought that her crewmembers should do the same, but even she thought that Maj Kane was too tightly wound.

As a C-130 Aeromedical Evacuation crew, they were all responsible for transporting injured personnel from smaller camps in Afghanistan back to Kandahar, where they could receive more advanced medical treatment. Once the patients were in less-critical condition, they could then be moved onward to hospitals in Germany or the US to finish their recoveries. While their squadron often had pre-planned missions, the crews were also required to fill standby shifts and be ready to transport patients to Kandahar at any time.

SrA Reyes strolled back in and plopped into her chair as if nothing had happened. 1Lt Bellamy glared at her, but Maj Kane was intent on the briefing. It didn’t matter if the briefing was always the same--Maj Kane never seemed to lose focus.

“Now that everyone has left their electronics outside…” SrA Murphy paused dramatically, half expecting another interruption, “we can begin. This briefing is secret, so don’t go blabbing about it to your girlfriends (I’m looking at you, Sergeant Griffin).”

Moments like this almost made her miss Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, the military policy that made it illegal for anyone to ask or talk about their non-heterosexual orientation… Or at the very least, she regretted introducing her then-girlfriend to all of her crewmates at the Air Force Ball a couple years ago back at March Air Reserve Base in California, where they were all stationed. She didn’t think she would ever hear the end of it.

SrA Murphy continued without missing a beat. “It’s all the typical threats around base: we’ve had three confirmed missiles on the north side of the runway earlier today, so it’s probably best if you avoid that area.”

Insurgents fired missiles at Coalition planes taking off or landing from base everyday, with most shots going wide or being drawn away by the planes dropping flares. Clarke wondered if she would ever get used to the idea of someone trying to kill her, even if there was nothing she could do about it in the back of the C-130.

SrA Murphy didn’t have much new information to share with them, and SSgt Jasper was already nodding off. Clarke couldn’t blame him--she only kept herself awake by doodling on her comm card, which had all of their flight information and code words for the day. She was brainstorming ways to get back at him and A1C Monty for teasing her so much about the Marine the day before. 

The Marine.

Clarke had a hard time deciding on what to call her. Both the Marine and Sgt Carey seemed so impersonal. It was immensely unfair that the Marine knew her full name from her flight suit name tape, while Marine uniforms showed only the last name… She should have asked her what it was when she had the chance.

Clarke already had a long string of questions to ask her when they met again. How long had she been in Kandahar? Was she going to ship out to Helmand province like most of the other Marines did? Why was she carrying around that photo of that woman? And what other surprising skills did she have besides foreign languages? 

But Clarke would only be able to ask her these questions if she managed to find a way to return that photo...

“Sergeant Griffin!” 

Clarke crashed back into reality, as LtCol Abby, the medical officer of the crew, looked intently at her with a small smile.

“Fill me in on what you were looking so dreamy about later,” the officer said. “But for now, can you tell us about the equipment set up for today?” 

Luckily, Clarke had been deployed long enough to barely even have to think about their mission prep anymore. She felt comfortable with the usual planning and setup of medical equipment that they would have to configure in the C-130 before their flight with the help of their loadmaster, Jasper. She rattled off her usual part of the pre-flight briefing with no trouble. 

After the briefing, the rest of the crew left hurriedly to take care of their pre-flight items, but Raven and Jasper bounded over to Clarke before she could even get up. 

“So Griffin,” Raven began, smirking. “I heard from Jasper that you had a… how did he describe it… a _sensual encounter_ in the chow hall last night. I couldn’t help but wondering if your loss of focus today was related at all.”

Clarke couldn’t get out of her chair and the briefing room fast enough. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, especially from Jasper.”

“Um, your comm card says otherwise,” Raven said as she snatched Clarke’s paper from the table.

There were pencil drawings all over it. Drawings of… oh dear God no.

Jasper whistled low. “On the plus side, your drawings really are getting better. Huh, you’re already imagining her with her hair down.”

Clarke was beyond relieved that the rest of the crew had already filed out of the briefing room. Her life seemed to be one endless stream of embarrassing events these days.

“You’re both overreacting,” Clarke accused, trying and failing to snatch back the paper from Raven. “You know how boring these briefings are, day after day, so of course I draw whatever comes to mind.”

Clarke knew she had made a mistake, as soon as Jasper started wagging his eyebrows at her. “Got her on your mind, eh Clarke? Maybe she’ll get on the rest of you soon enough.” 

Raven laughed at that and high-fived him. Clarke managed to take back the comm card that was in Raven’s other hand. She couldn’t believe these two: twenty-something years old, wearing the uniform, sworn to protect freedom, and here they were wasting their time teasing her about what was seriously a completely innocent conversation in the chow hall. 

But the rough sketch on her comm card told a different story (not that Clarke would ever admit it).

“Come on, let’s go get our gear,” Clarke called out behind her as she rushed out of the tent. They were just on stand-by that day, so they really weren’t in that great of a rush. But she wanted to get out of that conversation as fast as possible. 

But Clarke realized that distraction may have been the better strategy. “What do you guys say to a few games of Mario Kart while we’re on stand-by?”

Just like Clarke suspected, it didn’t take much to distract Jasper. He hooted like a schoolboy being let out for the first day of summer vacation, as he ran out toward the morale tent. 

Raven rolled her eyes as if she didn’t care about the game (even though Clarke knew she secretly practiced it by herself to be able to beat Jasper and Monty). She looked sternly at Clarke. “Don’t think I won’t make you spill the beans about this Marine, Griffin. Keeping secrets from your best friend is a crime.” 

“You know I would never keep things from you,” Clarke assured her, as they stepped out of the tent. “But trust me, there are no beans to spill. Not yet, anyway.”

“She’d be crazy not to fall madly in love with you.” Raven threw an arm around Clarke’s shoulders as they walked out of the tent. “If she’s into that nerdy saving the world shit that you do.”

Clarke looked at her sideways. “Thanks… I think.”


	3. Hacking the mish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and crew save some lives and share some banter. But most importantly, we take the final step before Clexa can happen. It'll be worth the wait.

“I see you, Jasper, trying to sneak up on me with those red shells. It’s not going to work.”

“I don’t need the element of surprise to destroy you--I have skill in abundance.” 

Jasper and Raven were both sitting on a beat-up black leather couch in the morale tent, which was packed with bookshelves containing everything from Leo Tolstoy to Nora Roberts, shelves with board games, and an enormous flat-screen TV with various gaming systems attached. They stared intensely at their Mario Kart screen sections, each trying to gain the upper hand in their final lap.

Jasper released the first of three red shells, which was easily blocked by Raven’s dropped banana. He shot the next red shell with a shout of triumph, but Raven somehow managed to drive her kart around the corner just in time to have the shell burst uselessly on the wall. Growling, Jasper launched the final shell as Raven approached the finish line. It impacted, and she started yelling louder and louder as she inched toward the finish line and crossed it mere moments before Jasper. 

“Victory once again, bitch!” Raven roared as she leapt off the couch and shot Jasper the bird. “Not even three red shells in the final lap can stop this!” 

Jasper groaned and wiped his face with his hand in exasperation. He looked back from the couch toward Clarke, who was sitting at one of the unclassified computers near the front of the tent. “Griffin, can you get back over here? Reyes is getting completely out of control, and you’re the only one who can beat her.” 

“Nah she’s too scared--I trounced her in the last match, and she’s afraid I’ll do it again,” Raven gloated, continuing her victory dance that Jasper had a hard time looking away from. 

“Sorry guys, I’m busy. Got to deal with Finance again--you know how it is,” Clarke said distractedly, as she waited for the computer to log on and pulled out the photo of the mysterious woman from her flight suit pocket once again.

She was beautiful, with jet black hair, a few freckles spotting her cheeks, and a fit body. But most of all, her smile radiated warmth and sensuality. Clarke knew it wasn’t logical, but she felt a pang of jealousy course through her, knowing that Sergeant Carey ordinarily kept this photo in her uniform with her. 

But maybe she was getting ahead of herself--who was to say that the Marine was even attracted to women? Or, to be more specific, attracted to Clarke? This wouldn’t be the first time that Clarke had taken a fancy to someone who didn’t even know she existed. But between Sergeant Carey’s eyes (were they green?), her smile (subtle and a little mischievous), and her unprecedented skills in getting her ice cream, Clarke couldn’t deny that she needed to see this woman again. And returning this photo gave her the perfect excuse.

Raven and Jasper had evidently decided that recruiting Clarke for another round of Mario Kart wasn’t worth the effort, as they had already sat down to play again. With their battle cries raging in the background, Clarke opened up the Global address book in Microsoft Outlook, which contained the emails of every service member in the US military. 

Sergeant Carey… US Marine Corps…..

Balls. Of course, there were dozens, if not a hundred Careys in the USMC. She filtered for sergeant rank and Kandahar Airfield, and the list dwindled down to just one. 

Lexa Carey. Sergeant. USMC. 

Bingo. 

Her heart racing, Clarke composed a new email to Sergeant Lexa Carey…. then hesitated. She had to play this cool. She knew that many Marines considered anyone in the “Chair Force” to be a joke (something about a six week boot camp and only shooting firearms once a year didn’t impress people who lived and breathed combat). Best to keep things professional, right?

_  
*** UNCLASSIFIED ***_

_TO: CAREY, LEXA SGT USMC_  
FROM: GRIFFIN, CLARK SSGT USAF  
SUBJECT: Returning your photograph 

_Sergeant Carey,_

_While you were leaving the Niagra DFAC yesterday evening, you appear to have dropped a photo of a young woman. I am available to return this photo to you any evening this week at your convenience._

_Regards,_

_SSgt Clarke Griffin_  
United States Air Force  
651st Expeditionary Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron  
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan 

_*** UNCLASSIFIED ***  
_

Clarke was in the process of proofreading the email for the fifth time, when the standby radio that she wore clipped onto her M-9 shoulder holster sounded.

“Standby crew, Phoenix ops. Medical emergency at FOB Ramrod. Step to the aircraft in 15 mikes.”

Jasper and Raven hurriedly turned off Mario Kart, as acknowledgements from the rest of the crew sounded over the radio.

“Griffin copies,” Clarke radioed, hesitating for just a moment longer before sending the email to Sergeant Carey. The butterflies in her stomach weren’t just from receiving word about the mission, she knew.

They all grabbed their flight bags and ran to the briefing tent for the final flight details. For now, Clarke would have to stay focused on the mission.

 

**********

It was an exhausting flight, with 12 patients in serious condition who each needed constant monitoring in the cargo hold of their C-130. Clarke lost count of the number of rounds she and A1C Jaha had made to each patient on the two hour flight, checking vital signs, administering drugs, and calling LtCol Abby over to patients who needed more expert care. As flight engineer, SrA Reyes handled communication with the flight deck and repaired a radio malfunction. Loadmaster SSgt Jasper arranged and secured the hospital beds to ensure patient comfort and safe flight, while LtCol Kane and 1Lt Bellamy were in charge of flying the aircraft. With their normal flight briefings and preparation, a couple hours of waiting on standby, flying to FOB Ramrod, loading the patients onto the C-130 and unloading them again once they had returned to Kandahar, and debriefing, it had turned into a long day. 

Per usual, the entire crew plus A1C Monty, who had finished his COMSEC (Communications Security) shift at the squadron a short time before, went to the chow hall to eat together. Also per usual, the pilots were off to one side, deeply immersed in pilot jargon that no one else even remotely cared about.

“No, I wouldn’t say that it’s an exaggeration that I single-handedly saved the mission today,” Raven said nonchalantly over her tray of questionable meat in a questionable sauce.

Jasper groaned dramatically with an impressive eye roll. “How does fixing one radio, when there are THREE other radios on board, save the mission? Maybe the person who, I don’t know, secured all of the patients so they didn’t go shooting across the cargo hold when we landed should get a little credit here.” 

“Or maybe the people who actually treated the patients saved the mission? What do you think, Griffin?” A1C Jaha asked with a laugh.

Clarke was looking around the chow hall distractedly, but she turned back and said “Everyone knows that you and I are the heroes of Afghanistan, Jaha. But if you just let Reyes win, maybe she’ll finally shut up about this.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Raven slapped Clarke on the back. “You guys should really listen to her--she’s the senior NCO at this table, you know. Overflowing with NCO knowledge. Years of experience and two combat tours under her belt. A truly wise leader amongst us lowly Airmen.” Raven beamed.

A1C Monty shook his head. “You’ve really done it now, Griffin. This may be even worse than that time Reyes fixed the AC in the briefing tent and wouldn’t stop collecting payment from everyone in the squadron in the form of care package homemade cookies. She may want to might apply for a Bronze Star for this one, and you as her NCO…” 

“A genius idea, good sir!” Raven agreed. “I’ll expect a draft of my award package from SSgt Griffin by tomorrow morning.” 

“It’ll be written in crayon with half of the words misspelled,” Clarke laughed. “Although none of that may hurt your chances of getting a Bronze Star, except for the fact that you’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Raven looked genuinely affronted. “Hey now, if some bitch in finance can get one for filing paperwork and taking Friday afternoons off, I sure as hell can get one for fixing a fucking radio at 20,000 feet.”

“Fair enough, Reyes,” Clarke said as she finished the salad of somewhat-wilted lettuce on her tray. “Maybe I’ll submit an award package for myself too while I’m at it. You know what, might as well submit one for everyone.”

“Oh my God, I can see it now,” Jasper said with excited, wide eyes. “You get a Bronze Star! You get a Bronze Star! Everyone gets a Bronze Star!” Jasper yelled as he stood up and pointed at everyone at the table.

Clarke almost choked on her food she was laughing so hard. She really was lucky to have these goons on her crew. But she still stole a glance around the chow hall, just in case she caught a glimpse of a certain dark-haired Marine. She tried not to be disappointed when she didn’t see her.

**********

With the rest of the crew going back to their dorms or gearing up for the gym (on a full stomach, no thanks), Clarke made her way to the Air Force rec center. They were showing what looked like a bootleg copy of a Fast and the Furious movie on the big screen, but she wasn’t thrilled to waste what little was left of her waking hours on car porn. 

Logging onto one of the computers in the adjoining room, Clarke stalked her college friends on Facebook and allowed herself just a moment to envy their photos of enjoying the summer California sun and what looked like excess numbers of sugary, alcoholic beverages. Clarke was going to fall another semester behind at UC Irvine because of this deployment, but she supposed this was the price to pay for the military paying for her school. And considering she still had another two years to finish pre-med, then another six years at least after that if she decided to continue on to become a doctor, Clarke wasn’t too worried about being a semester behind her peers. 

Almost as an afterthought, Clarke decided to check her Air Force email to see if Finance had pulled their heads out of their asses and started paying her hazardous duty pay, which she was authorized to receive while being deployed. 

Her heart nearly stopped.

A reply. From Sergeant Carey. Oh God.

She leaned forward in her seat as she opened the email, her heart beginning to race. 

_  
*** UNCLASSIFIED ***_

_TO: GRIFFIN, CLARK SSGT USAF_  
FROM: CAREY, LEXA SGT USMC  
SUBJECT: Returning your photograph 

_SSgt Clarke Griffin,_

_You can’t understand how pleased I am to receive your email. Tomorrow evening at 2000 at Green Bean Coffee would be great for me. I’ll buy you a coffee--or a non-alcoholic Beck’s if that’s how you roll._

_Cheers,_

_Sgt Lexa Carey_  
United States Marine Corps  
2nd Battalion 5th Marines  
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan 

_“You miss all of the tequila shots you don’t take.” -- General Patton_

_*** UNCLASSIFIED ***  
_

Clarke frowned, reading the last line again. She knew that General Patton had been an eccentric man, but… tequila shots? Clarke snorted a laugh, before succumbing to a yawn. She should respond quickly and get in bed--she had a 10 hour ground duty shift in less than 8 hours.

_  
*** UNCLASSIFIED ***_

_TO: CAREY, LEXA SGT USMC_  
FROM: GRIFFIN, CLARK SSGT USAF  
SUBJECT: Returning your photograph 

_Sergeant Carey,_

_2000 tomorrow at Green Bean will work great. I’ll definitely take a coffee--there’s no need to pay twice as much for water with a Beck’s label on it._

_Sincerely,_

_SSgt Clarke Griffin_  
United States Air Force  
651st Expeditionary Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron  
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan 

_“Be excellent to each other. And party on, dudes.” -- Abraham Lincoln_

_*** UNCLASSIFIED ***  
_

She smiled to herself as she logged off. Tomorrow at 8pm couldn’t come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, Clarke and Lexa are actually going to meet again in the next chapter. OMG. **heavy breathing**


	4. A Date with Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little coffee, moderate amounts of flirtation, and a lot of taking every opportunity to see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes, the words kept flowing with this chapter. I hope you enjoy :)

Clarke fought the urge to bang her head against the desk as she went through the medical equipment inventory. She had been updating the Excel sheet with the quantity of all of their medical supplies for the last two hours, and she was still only halfway through the list. Bandages, IVs, gloves, various medicines and salves and casts and tourniquets… It all had to be accounted for. She planned on having a very long, very nasty talk with whoever had scheduled her for ground duty on inventory day. 

What’s more, she was still a little peeved about her laundry not being ready yet that morning. She had stopped by the laundry tent, where local Afghan workers collected everyone’s dirty laundry and transported it to the laundry facility that was located elsewhere on base. Normally, it was a 3 day turnaround, but it had already been 5 days, and her laundry still wasn’t back. They had half-heartedly searched through the numerous shelves in the back of the tent that contained bags of clean laundry, gave her the same tired excuses that they had the day before about how busy they were, and the same lingering stares that made her skin crawl. She had been looking forward to wearing her ABUs (Airman Battle Uniform) on her ground duty day, but it seems that wasn’t meant to be. Being able to wear a different uniform to work made her feel somewhat more human and less like just another cog in the machine. But if she were being honest with herself, the flight suit made her ass look better anyway. Maybe it was for the best, to be wearing her flight suit during her… meeting with Sgt Carey this evening. 

Meeting? 

Appointment? 

… Date?

Best if she didn’t think too much about this one.

Sighing, Clarke took another box down from a shelf in the supply room and started counting the syringes inside. She turned up The National playlist she had on her iPod and connected to the speakers--with the Air Force’s restrictions on internet use, it was impossible to stream music online, and the internet was agonizingly slow anyway. Not surprising, considering where she was.

“Hey Clarke, sitting here all by yourself? You must be lonely.”

Clarke fought the urge to turn up her iPod and ignore him. If she were back in college, she would have. But now as a Staff Sergeant, she would have to use a certain amount of tact to tell the Tech Sergeant to fuck off. With all do respect, of course.

She didn’t look up from the box of syringes, even though she had lost count. “Not lonely, Sergeant Collins. Just busy.”

TSgt Finn Collins, with his hair growing long onto his ears (how hadn’t anyone yelled at him for that, anyway?), walked into the room self-consciously. He was wearing ABUs and had his M-16 slung across his back. He smiled hopefully at her, but she still hadn’t looked up. “You and I both know that you have the next 8 hours of your shift to count all the shit in this room. Come on, Clarke, let me buy you breakfast.”

Clarke finally looked up at him from the desk and smiled. He could be endearing sometimes, even if he was like a lost puppy looking for its owner. “Is there an IHOP on base that I don’t know about? Or are you planning on providing a luxurious breakfast of Pringles from the BX?” 

That was clearly too much friendliness, because Finn chuckled and took the seat on the other side of the desk and propped his feet up against the desk. “I might splurge for the Pop Tarts. Or a couple bags of beef jerky. Dream big, Clarke. This is your chance.”

Clarke sighed before she could stop herself. She felt like every time she gave Finn an inch, he took a foot. There was something off-putting about the way he looked at her, and how he always seemed to find her alone like this. She knew that most (probably all) of the men were rather… desperate while deployed. Spending months away from their girlfriends and wives tended to make them hone in on anything with boobs. Clarke had heard confidential accounts from a couple of female Airmen that they loved it--there was no way in hell they were that popular with the boys back home. But the vast majority of women she had talked to were tired of the unwanted looks and comments that flowed endlessly from their male peers. 

Toward Finn, Clarke had genuinely friendly feelings that were constantly being misinterpreted as interest. One time, she had been deliriously tired and laughed at his joke about a ham sandwich walking into a bar, and he hadn’t left her side until she slunk into her dormitory, pointing at the sign prohibiting members of the opposite sex. 

She wished he would just get the hint. But he never did.

Putting aside the box that she could have had inventoried by now, minus the distractions, Clarke got up from her seat and looked down on Finn. “Sergeant Collins, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me by my first name. Sergeant Griffin is fine.”

He looked confused and straightened up in the chair. “Oh, of course, no problem. I just figured that, you know, with the both of us being NCOs and all…”

“And we should be a good example for our Airmen, don’t you think, and maintain a professional relationship between the two of us? Speaking of being a good example, I should probably get back to work and skip breakfast. I have to get a box of supplies from the other tent, so I’ll see you around, Sergeant Collins.”

Clarke left a dejected Finn sitting in her office and shut the door behind her. She shook her head and decided to give him a few minutes to clear out. She walked out of the supply tent into the aeromedical evacuation squadron’s compound. It was 0800 and already 90 degrees at least, so she hurried into one of the adjacent tents to escape the heat.

Clarke poked her head into the COMSEC office, where A1C Monty was updating the crypto machines that were used to encrypt the radios on the C-130. 

“Hey Monty,” Clarke grinned, “Got any food lying around? I’m starving.”

**********

The rest of the day had passed without incident, and Clarke had somehow made it through the supply inventory without losing all of her mind. She had lost count a few times during the inventory, as her mind had wandered to getting coffee with Sgt Carey later that day. Completely unnecessary questions like “What should I wear?” (your uniform, you dipshit) and “What should I do with my hair?” (put it in a bun, like you do every goddamn day) kept popping into her mind. Part of her wished that she was going for coffee back in California, so that she could dress up a little (but not too much.. it was just coffee after all), but then she figured that she wouldn’t have met someone like Sgt Carey back in her pre-med classes or on base. So. 

Clarke locked her dorm room behind her and walked a few doors down to Raven’s room. Each aircrew member in the squadron had their own room, which had surprised Clarke when she had first arrived at Kandahar. In her previous deployments, she had always roomed with at least one other woman. But with the troop drawdown in Afghanistan, there were actually enough rooms for aircrew at least to get solo rooms. Ground personnel weren’t so lucky. This was yet another reason why being aircrew was the best decision she could have made when she had joined the Air Force.

Several doors down from Raven’s room, Clarke could already hear the pounding dance music. She knocked, but there was no response. “Raven?” Clarke said loudly, initially worried about disturbing other people’s crew rest, but then realizing that the music was already doing that. “Raven!”

Wearing a tight tank top and tiny shorts, Raven opened the door dancing. Her hair was down and she looked surprisingly… normal. Hot, obviously, but like a normal human being. Clarke smiled to herself--it was a nice reminder that life still existed outside of this deployment. 

“What is it, Griffin girl?” Raven asked over the thumping bass line. “Did you hear these sick beats and want to join in on this dance party? I was just thinking these moves were too good to not share with another body.”

Raven grabbed Clarke’s arms and started to drag her into the tiny room that barely had any floor space between the twin bed and locker, but Clarke laughed and pulled herself free. “As much fun as that sounds, Reyes, I’m just here to make sure I look… alluring.”

“Alluring?!” Raven shot her a sideways look and twisted her body around to turn down the music on her laptop. “Who do you have to look alluring for…. Ahhhh of course.” Raven smirked at her. “You’re seeing that Marine chick again, aren’t you? Drawn any more sketches of her? Naked sketches, probably, knowing you.”

“Oh my God, shut up Reyes,” Clarke complained as she playfully punched Raven’s arm. “Yeah I’m meeting her for coffee to return… something to her.”

“Her heart, Griffin? I know lesbians move fast, but you were seriously talking with her for five minutes.”

 

Clarke realized that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned it, but she pulled out the photo from her flight suit pocket anyway. “She dropped this in the DFAC, so I figure I should give it back to her. It looks important.”

Unfolding the photograph, Raven let out a low whistle. “This could be bad news, Griffin. I mean, you’re still hotter than whoever this lady is, but you might want to, um, temper those expectations of yours. She could be the girlfriend of your lady crush.” 

“Yeah I know, the idea has crossed my mind,” Clarke admitted, taking the photo back. “But let me live out my fantasy for a few minutes, OK? No need to ruin things yet.” 

“Absolutely,” Raven said with a firm nod, oddly serious. “So, to reassure you that you look ‘alluring,’” She pulled Clarke’s flight suit zipper down an inch, just below the bottom of her name tape, and pulled out a couple strands of blonde hair around her temples. “That ought to do it--you’re irresistible now.”

Clarke looked at her friend cynically. “So you’re telling me the secret to deployed beauty is breaking uniform regulations? Makes sense.”

Raven patted her arm reassuringly. “Just don’t run into a Chief Master Sergeant who gets hard on uniform infractions, and you’re all good. Now, this may be a stretch, but.. are you stalling?” 

“What? Stalling?” Clarke scoffed and shifted her weight. “No way, I’m not nervous or anything. “I just don’t want to be the weirdo that’s half an hour early for our… appointment.” 

“You got ready 30 minutes before you have to leave?” Raven burst out laughing, which succeeded in turning Clarke a hilarious shade of red. “Yeah, you’re not nervous at all. Well, come watch an episode of ‘It’s Always Sunny’ with me so that you don’t freak out too much.”

They both plopped down onto Raven’s bed with her laptop, and Clarke couldn’t remember a single detail of that episode afterward. 

**********

Clarke walked into the Green Bean coffee shop on Kandahar Airfield a bundle of nerves. Reyes had done her best to take her mind off of her meeting with Sgt Carey, but during the fifteen minute walk from her dorm to the coffee shop, Clarke had had nothing else to think about. 

The place was busy, as it always was during the evening, mostly with highly-caffeinated Soldiers who were likely pretending that the coffee shots they were pounding were actually whisky shots. But sitting in the corner, with her back to the wall, was Sgt Carey in her tan desert cammies, brown hair pulled into a tight bun, and her M-16 rifle propped up against the wall. She was reading a book with apparent interest--Clarke looked closer and saw that it was “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin.

Sgt Carey must have felt her stare, because she looked up from her book straight at Clarke. The small smile that appeared at the corners of her mouth caused Clarke’s to stop in her tracks. Grabbing her rifle from the wall, Sgt Carey put her book down on the table and began walking over. Clarke realized that she hadn’t moved a muscle since Sgt Carey had spotted her. She may have also stopped breathing. Was she still alive? Yes. Good.

“Staff Sergeant Griffin? It’s good to see you again,” Sgt Carey said with a smile as she extended her hand. It took Clarke just a beat too long to shake her hand, as she just couldn’t seem to look away from those green eyes. Definitely green. Definitely big. Definitely beautiful and… laughing at her? 

They held each other’s hands for a couple of seconds longer than were strictly necessary for a handshake. Realizing this, Clarke took back her hand with an embarrassed laugh, looking away and reminding herself to breathe. The small smile on Sgt Carey’s face was becoming more and more amused. 

“Uh yes, Sergeant Carey,” Clarke finally managed to say, “I wanted to make sure to return this photo of yours in a timely manner.”

“That’s very noble of you. But why don’t I get you that coffee first? Since it sounds like the Beck’s is off the table.” 

How could she be so calm? Maybe it was just that goddamn Marine arrogance, but Sgt Carey positively radiated confidence. Clarke had to get a hold of herself before things got too out of hand. 

“You really don’t have to get me a coffee,” Clarke managed, making her way over to the ordering counter. “No point in wasting those hard-earned deployment bucks on a girl you barely know.”

“But isn’t that the point of today, to get to know each other? Besides returning the photo, of course,” Lexa replied. Nothing in her tone of voice or facial expression betrayed that she was teasing Clarke, but her eyes danced. “I’d say a cup of coffee is a small price to pay for that.”

Clarke ended up with a latte and brownie courtesy of Sgt Carey, and they returned to the corner table. She was getting over her initial… shock at seeing the Marine again and was starting to feel more like herself. “So, since we’re here to get to know each other… I’m pretty curious how you managed to promise the ice cream guy in the chow hall some dirty magazines in Dari.”

“You should have heard what I told one of the food servers last week to get the last few chicken strips,” Sgt Carey said straight-faced, sipping the black coffee that was already sitting on the table from before. “Learning a language is a new part of Marine Corps training for sergeants. They assign everyone a region of the world and teach us about that region’s culture and language. I got Afghanistan, go figure, and was instructed in Dari. I may have been a bit more… enthusiastic than the other Marines, and studied on my own as well.”

“Yeah, something tells me they don’t tell you how to talk about porn in official language classes, even in the Marines,” Clarke laughed. 

“They certainly do not, but I’ve found that learning some choice words has its advantages,” Sgt Carey said, unzipping the backpack that was at her feet. She showed Clarke a plastic-covered magazine from inside--the latest issue of Playboy, evidently--before closing up the backpack. “And I keep my promises, even to dirty old Afghan men.” 

“The things we do for ice cream, am I right?” Clarke joked while sipping her latte. 

Sgt Carey cocked her head to the side. “The things we do for attractive staff sergeants who want ice cream.”

Clarke froze with the cup at her lips, which allowed coffee to continue flowing out of the lid and down her face. Of course.

“Oh my God, I’m such a klutz,” Clarke groaned, but Sgt Carey was already handing her a pile of napkins that were sitting on the table. 

“You just don’t seem to understand the concept that coffee is meant to be drunk, not worn.”

“Shit…” Clarke mumbled, wiping off the coffee as best she could. “Well, best to clarify first thing that I have a drinking problem. A coffee drinking problem. Fuck me.”

Sgt Carey’s couldn’t hold back a smirk for a moment, but her face returned to neutral quickly, although her eyes remained playful. “Many people wait until the third date for that, but I’m not sure what the rules are while deployed.”

Clarke laughed as she looked into Sgt Carey’s eyes… she couldn’t seem to look away. They were strong, penetrating, and full of emotion, even when her voice betrayed none. Just when Clarke was finally starting to fully register what Sgt Carey had implied--

A siren wailed from speakers just outside.Clarke hesitated for half a second, before throwing herself to the ground. With the coffee shop full of people, every inch of the floor was taken by people laying down and covering their heads. Sgt Carey and Clarke were crammed into the corner, their faces inches away from one another. 

“ROCKET. ATTACK. ROCKET. ATTACK.” A robotic, female British voice sounded from the speakers outside.

“Another day in paradise, wouldn’t you say?” Sgt Carey said, her eyes wandering down to Clarke’s lips even as they were both doing their best to protect themselves from shrapnel that could be flying over their heads at any moment. 

A distant rumble. Even though the explosion sounded too faint to have hit base, Clarke could still feel the ground shaking slightly beneath her. 

“I don’t ever think I’ll get used to this part--and I don’t think I want to,” Clarke said, still covering her head with her hands but becoming increasingly distracted by the Marine who was so close in front of her. Sgt Carey was calm, even with rockets exploding nearby. Laying this close to her, Clarke could see Lexa’s pulse in her neck, steady and slow. Her eyes continued wandering down to the hollow of her throat, then flicked back to Lexa’s face. It was all too much to take in at once and had to be appreciated one at a time.

After two minutes, everyone in the Green Bean started getting up and making their way outside into the night toward the nearest bunker, where they would have to wait until the all clear was given. Sgt Carey grabbed her book, backpack, and rifle, while Clarke already had everything she brought with her, her M-9 still secure in her shoulder holster. They quickly walked outside and followed the crowd into the bunker. Lights from the nearby shops illuminated the outside of the bunkers, but the press of bodies blocked the light from entering.

With the BX and other shops adjacent to the coffee shop, and many personnel on base having the evening hours off, there were dozens of people trying to cram into just a few bunkers. Clarke was surprised when Sgt Carey reached down and took her hand, as she fought her way past the people blocking the way deeper into the bunker. Even with the alarm and high likelihood of another rocket attack, Clarke couldn’t help feeling a warmth shooting up her arm and quickening her heartbeat. Sgt Carey’s hands were well-calloused and strong. She supposed that was due to Marine physical training (PT), which was a lot more vigorous than Air Force PT. But she couldn’t help wonder what else those hands were capable of. Clarke held on tight, as they squeezed past all of the other people, mostly soldiers, who were already in the bunker. Some people were lucky enough to have found crates or boxes to sit on, but most were standing, taking up room with their weapons and bags of purchased goods from the BX. 

“You must be fun at concerts,” Clarke mumbled as Sgt Carey literally pushed soldiers out of their way.

“I’m usually the one who brings the weed, so yeah I’m pretty fun,” Sgt Carey said nonchalantly. When she noticed Clarke’s non-believing look, she clarified “I mean, I did before the Marine Corps. Things have changed, although I’m no less fun, I assure you.”

Sgt Carey turned to her in the dark bunker, still holding her hand loosely. The rocket attack alarm had stopped, so the only sounds were the chatter of the people around them. People were smoking and laughing and generally not taking things seriously. 

Clarke had her back to the side of the concrete bunker, and she felt more than saw Sgt Carey in front of her in the darkness. As a few stragglers continued to cram themselves into the bunker, Sgt Carey released her hand, but was forced to inch closer until their bodies were nearly touching. Clarke could feel the other woman’s breath on her skin, and she saw that her face was angled down to hers. She was just able to make out the glint of her eyes in the darkness, and she wasn’t sure if she was imagining those eyes looking down at her lips.

A flash of light, followed by a deafening crack and the entire bunker shaking around them. Clarke felt strong arms surround her, as Sgt Carey folded her body around her and secured her between her own body and the concrete wall. 

A string of curses seemed to be the only words that anyone around them could say.

“Holy shit, man! Did you see that fucking rocket?”

“Fuck me, that fucking rocket was right fucking there!”

Clarke hadn’t realized that her own arms had wrapped around Sgt Carey’s waist. The strength beneath that uniform was obvious. She pulled them back quickly, and immediately regretted doing so. 

Sgt Carey unwrapped Clarke from her protecting arms slowly, only to move her hands to her shoulders. With what looked like concern on her face, she asked “Are you alright, Staff Sergeant Griffin?” Even with all of the yelled profanities around them, Clarke could hear her due to their close proximity.

“Clarke. You can call me Clarke.” They were still so close. Her lips looked soft in the darkness, and heat seemed to radiate from her body.

“Clarke,” Sgt Carey said carefully, as if she were testing the sound. She had said her full name and rank before, but just saying her first name sounded different. Clarke enjoyed the sound of it. She wanted to hear her say it again.

“And what can I call you?” Clarke could manage no more than a whisper. 

A ghost of a smile passed over the Marine’s face, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Sergeant Carey.”

Clarke snorted a laugh, even as she felt herself gravitating towards the other woman. Their lips were inches apart. “That’s not fair, and you know it.” 

Outside of the bunker, the robotic female British voice sounded again. “ALL. CLEAR. ALL. CLEAR.”

As one, the other people in the bunker rushed back out into the night. The light that had been blocked by their bodies before was then able to illuminate the inside of the bunker, showering Clarke and Sgt Carey with light. Clarke could now see the Marine’s green eyes more clearly, although they appeared darker than they had before. They were standing close, their uniforms just touching. Some of the soldiers leaving the bunker stopped and stared, slapping their buddies’ sides and pointing back at the two women. Clarke noticed all of this out of the corner of her eye, but there was no way that she could move--or that she wanted to. 

Sgt Carey’s hands had slid down to Clarke’s upper arms at some point. “Lexa.” 

Clarke smiled up at her. “Lexa.”

One of the soldiers standing near the bunker entrance cleared his throat loudly and spit. “Fucking dykes--no wonder we can’t get any pussy around here.” 

Lexa seemed to awaken from a dream, pulling her hands from Clarke’s arms and straightening her body. Cold fury washed over her face as she took a step toward the soldier. Clarke grabbed her arm and stopped her fast, pulling her to the other side of the bunker.

“Not worth it, Lexa. He’s just another bigot in uniform. He’s not worth the trouble you’ll get in.” 

Lexa didn’t seem appeased, when they stopped on the other side of the bunker and she glared back at the soldier. She let out a deep sigh. “I know you’re right, but I don’t have to like it.”

“What are you gonna do, get in a fist fight with some random soldier in front of Green Bean?”

‘That’s exactly what I was going to do,” Lexa declared, still glaring, “and I was going to win.” 

 

“Ugh, Marines…” Clarke shook her head. “Listen, I have to head back to make sure I get crew rest for my flight tomorrow. But thanks… you protected me in the bunker. Although I’m pretty sure the 500 other people in the bunker probably would have stopped anything from hitting us.”

Lexa gave her a long look. “Best not to leave that to chance.”

Clarke remembered to breathe a moment later--she couldn’t believe the power that just a look from this woman had on her. “I still haven’t given you your photo…” She pulled out the folded photograph and handed it over to Lexa.

Lexa took it carefully, just as a group of three Marines wearing PT gear walked up and greeted Sgt Carey. Both women--one with almond-shaped eyes, the other with deep brown hair pulled into a pony tail--were absolutely gorgeous, and Clarke wondered what they hell they put in the water in Marine Corps camps to make them look like this. Lexa hurriedly shoved the photo into her left breast pocket before turning to her friends.

“Hey Sgt Carey,” the woman with the brown pony tail said, looking Clarke up and down, “glad to see you survived the rocket attack. We’re not interrupting anything with chow hall girl here, are we?”

The other woman, with dirty blonde hair, rolled her eyes. “You’ve never been one for subtlety, Blake. What are you up to, Carey? We’re heading to the gym for some basketball and could use a fourth.”

The man, Lincoln according to his name tape, stood stoically behind them and seemed to be analyzing Clarke. 

Lexa turned to Clarke. “Staff Sergeant Griffin, meet Gunnery Sergeant Anya, Corporal Lincoln, and Lance Corporal Blake. We’re all in the same platoon. Everyone, meet Staff Sergeant Griffin.” 

“Staff Sergeant Griffin, huh,” LCpl Blake drawled, “you any good at basketball? I have a feeling that Sgt Carey here wants to guard you.” 

Lexa shot her a glare. “Blake, I will destroy you. And then I will beat you in basketball.” 

“You always talk big, Sergeant,” Blake laughed, “but you have quite the losing streak going on. How ‘bout it then?”

Lexa glanced at Clarke with a quirked eyebrow before replying. “I’ll meet you guys over there. Got something to take care of first.”

GySgt Anja laughed raucously, looking between Lexa and Clarke “Is this ‘something’ wearing a flight suit? We’ll see you there, Carey.”

After the other three Marines had walked away, Clarke and Lexa stood there for a moment in front of the coffee shop in silence.

“God, I thought my Air Force friends were bad” Clarke joked, stepping a little closer to the Marine in the night air. “It’s… interesting how they all seemed to know who I was, even before you introduced us. It’s almost like someone told them about me. Who could that have been?”

Lexa looked everywhere but at Clarke. “I’m really not sure what you’re talking about. Marines are a very perceptive bunch. They must have seen you that day in the chow hall.” 

“Uh huh. And that’s why I don’t recognize any of them from the group you followed out that day. So in this case, perceptive means psychic.” 

“I may have mentioned you,” Lexa admitted. “Once or twice.” 

Clarke wished that it was brighter where they were standing, so that she could see the blush on the Marine’s cheeks. She was certain it was adorable, especially considering all of the cockiness Lexa had displayed so far. “Lexa,” Clarke began, still enjoying the feeling of saying the other woman’s name, “I’m trying to think of another excuse to see you.” 

“I may be willing to see you without one, if you’re lucky,” Lexa joked, her confidence returning. “But as you may know,” Lexa said confidingly, leaning in closer, “there’s not exactly a lot going on here. But I have an idea or two. When was the last time you shot an M-16?”

 

That took Clarke off guard. “Um.. four years ago? Give or take.” 

Lexa stared at her in disbelief. “Four years? What do they even teach you in the Air Force…” 

Not that her veins flowed with Air Force pride or anything, but Clarke couldn’t let that stand. “A lot of things--I’m qualified to operate on five different aircraft. Which I’m guessing is five more aircraft than you can fly on.”

Lexa didn’t seem to hear her. “And what about that M-9? How many times have you shot that thing?” She asked, pointing at the pistol in Clarke’s shoulder holster.

Clarke didn’t like where this conversation was going and wished she were still teasing Lexa about telling everyone about her. “Twice,” she begrudgingly said in a small voice.

She thought Lexa might laugh at her, but instead the Marine let out an angry breath. “I can’t believe that they sent you out to fucking Afghanistan with no weapons training. That’s irresponsible and unsafe. God forbid you actually have to use that thing…”

Clarke tried to break the serious air that had fallen over them. “So what you’re saying is… we have an excuse to see each other again?” 

Lexa stared at her, until finally a small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “That is no doubt the most positive outlook on this situation. My platoon has the weapons range for the next week. We’ll be training some Afghan soldiers, but I may have time to give some specialized attention to an Airman as well.” 

Clarke fought the urge to inch closer to the Marine again. “So… let me get this straight. You’re taking me on a date to a firing range? That’s a lot of trust for a girl you just met.” 

Lexa revealed no emotion. “There’s nothing straight about it. So can you make it?”

Clarke looked away, hoping to God that she wasn’t blushing (she was). At least there was no ambiguity to where all this was going. “I have a day off on Wednesday, but unless my laundry bag miraculously shows up, I won’t have my ABUs to wear. And getting gunpowder on my flight suit isn’t really an option... I’ll have to figure all that out before I can go shooting.”

“My buddy Nyko had that happen once,” Lexa began. “They kept telling him for a week that his laundry wasn’t ready and that he should come back later, so finally he just went over to the actual laundry facility, where they wash the clothes. He got it back in five minutes. The laundry facility is on the other side of base, but it might be worth looking into.” She paused. “And if you need company, or a translator, I could go with you.”

Clarke obviously wanted to see Lexa again in any capacity, but she didn’t want to seem like she couldn’t even handle getting her clothes back on her own. “It probably won’t be the most fun you’ve ever had in your life…” 

“And babysitting Afghans on the firing range is?” Lexa retorted with a knowing grimace. “Let’s do Wednesday afternoon. You can meet me at the red line bus stop down the street.” Lexa took out a piece of paper and a pen from her pocket and scribbled something onto it. “Call me if you get lost, Clarke.” 

And with that, Lexa left Clarke in front of the Green Bean holding that scrap of paper. Clarke let her eyes linger on Lexa as she walked away, before looking down at the piece of paper.

__  
“030-395-0288  
btw you’re gonna owe me big for this”  


Clarke laughed to herself, sparing one last glance at the Marine rapidly disappearing into the darkness. She was already imagining all kinds of creative ways repay her.


	5. Hot and Heavy Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone may need to change their underpants, after a simple quest for lost laundry takes an (un)expected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you guys like it too! Thanks for the great feedback you've been giving me--it means the world to me, and I might not have kept writing without it!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr (cornchipmeteor) if you'd like a dose of whatever I think is funny, plus the occasional Clexa and Hollstein trash.

Clark’s eyes snapped open on Wednesday morning as she lay in bed, and she was immediately fully awake. At first, she didn’t even remember the reason why she should feel this excited--but then the memory of Lexa’s body nearly pressing against hers in the bunker a few nights ago returned to her. Of course, today’s plan of retrieving Clarke’ lost laundry from the other side of base wasn’t exactly brimming with romance, but she couldn’t help wondering what flimsy excuse would bring them physically together again this time. Another rocket attack? A sudden case of chills requiring the other’s body heat to warm up again? Or heaven forbid, Clarke is struck with a mysteriously-sprained ankle, so that the Marine would have to carry her around base for the rest of the day? (Of course the ankle would miraculously heal itself as soon as she was alone). The possibilities were endless. But maybe Clarke would take a more straight-forward approach--that’s what adults do, right? 

But with Clarke’s mind already wandering down that path, she couldn’t ignore the throbbing that had awakened in her core. She didn’t want to imagine Lexa, considering Clarke wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye without turning an alarming shade of red later that day. But she couldn’t ignore that Lexa had summoned these feelings within her. She told herself that it was just a little deployment crush--she hadn’t seen a lot of action since she had deployed, considering that sex or any form of physical intimacy were strictly forbidden by Article 1, and her dating life back in Irvine had been dismal as of late. So no surprise that even the memory of Lexa could excite her. 

Still… Clarke hadn’t just imagined the chemistry between them. She realized that her hand was already moving down her taut stomach toward the heat that was building between her legs. She slid it down her inner thigh, before pressing her palm against herself. When the pressure from her palm was no longer enough, she circled her fingers around her clit, before rubbing up and down her slit with her other hand and finding herself already wet. She thought about getting the vibrator that she kept under her bed, but she really didn’t think it was going to be necessary. She inserted one finger, and then another, moaning in satisfaction and moving her hips slowly around her own hand. She was already panting, which illustrated the frustrated state she had found herself in for the past few days. Curling her fingers inside of herself, Clarke braced for the fall and applied more pressure with her fingers. The orgasm racked her body but was over too soon for her liking, and she realized how much she ached for someone else to share this with her. Rather than feeling satisfied, Clarke craved more. And she thought she knew where to get it.

Her breathing still not returned to normal, she grabbed the basic cell phone she had bought on her first deployment a couple of years ago and typed in Lexa’s number.

**_Clarke, 10:35am: Hi Lexa, it’s Clarke :) Are we still on for today? 2 sound good?_ **

Lexa’s reply wasn’t immediate, but it made her grin. 

**_Lexa, 11:42am: 2 sounds great. I wouldn’t miss it for anything._ **

**********

Parts of Clarke’s body (the parts she couldn’t discuss in public) were beyond ready to meet Lexa again that afternoon. But other parts of her, specifically her sweat glands, were less thrilled. A heat haze distorted everything around her, and even Clarke’s aviator sunglasses couldn’t prevent her from squinting. The oppressive heat, combined with the windborne dust that was ever-present at Kandahar, made her miss the slightly better air quality and cooler temperatures of southern California. Or maybe California had been training her for this? Heat, dust, hostile locals? Sounded about right.

Lexa was waiting at the smoke pit near the bus stop. She was leaning in the shade against the wooden shelter and taking a long drag from a cigarette. The medical side of Clarke cringed, but viscerally, she thought Lexa looked hot as fuck. Would Lexa’s mouth taste like an ashtray? Maybe. Clarke would have to find out. For science. And besides, Marines who didn’t smoke were like unicorns: at the very least rare, and probably mythical. 

Lexa put out her cigarette and sauntered over to Clarke at the bus stop. Her Marine confidence was in full swing, it seemed. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck in two large braids. Dirt spotted her cammies at the knees and elbows, probably from her work earlier that day at the firing range. Clarke called out to her as she approached. “Sgt Carey, your uniform looks like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt.”

“This is what people who work for a living look like,” Lexa returned in kind. “Which explains why Airmen’s uniforms are starched and spotless.”

“Har har har,” Clarke said, “we’ll see how you change your tune next time you need close air support.

Clarke and Lexa turned from each other as a bus that looked like it had outlived its usefulness by about three decades squealed to a halt in front of the bus stop, sending up a cloud of dust that enveloped the two. After a couple of soldiers got off, Clarke and Lexa stepped on board. Pausing near the driver, Lexa rattled off something in Dari to the Afghan driver, who grinned and glanced over to Clarke before erupting into laughter. 

Clarke glared at Lexa as she settled on a seat near an open window. “It’s very unnerving when I don’t know why people are laughing at me.”

Lexa shrugged, looking innocent. “I just told him that you’re meeting your lover at the laundry facility, and that he best hurry--you’re heart may not be able to wait any longer.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow as her voice lowered. “We’ve established that deployed dating rules may be different, but calling someone your lover on the second date does seem to be rushing things.”

Eyes widening comically, Lexa couldn’t seem to find the right words. “I--no--you’re--I was talking about your laundry man lover, not--” She looked up at the ceiling and out the window and literally everywhere but Clarke.

Flustered Lexa may have been the cutest thing that Clarke had ever seen, and she fought the urge to lean in closer to the Marine, at least not in such a public place as the bus. But she settled for running her fingers lightly along the back of Lexa’s hand. That got her attention--Lexa glanced down at their hands, then back up to Clarke with a questioning gaze. 

“You know,” Clarke continued as her fingers traced patterns on the other girl’s hand, “I wouldn’t be opposed to rushing things. Maybe ‘rushing’ isn’t the right word--I wouldn’t be opposed to taking things at a fast pace that we’re both comfortable with. Because I don’t know how long you’re going to be here, and I don’t like letting opportunities in my life slip by.”

Lexa’s stare was intense and steady, her uncertainty from before long gone. “Three weeks. I’m here for three more weeks, before shipping out to Helmand province.” 

Clarke’s hand paused--that really wasn’t a lot of time, and she already felt anxiety creeping into her stomach. But instead of succumbing to her worry, Clarke grasped Lexa’s hand in her own and squeezed, showing Lexa her best seduction smile. “Then we best not waste any time.”

**********

The rest of the bus ride passed with easygoing conversation. At one point, the bus made a horrendous screeching noise, which prompted the driver to stop the bus, hop out carrying a crowbar, hit something in the engine vigorously several times, and resume driving, apologizing profusely to Lexa and shooting amused looks at Clarke. They passed camels grazing on the grass on the other side of the base’s fence; locals herding goats unnecessarily close to base and getting shooed away by a security patrol; and burned-out remnants of Soviet-era tanks that were never disposed of. It was Wild West meets Cold War meets Farmville, and Clarke wondered again how this was real life. Feeling the Marine’s leg brush up against hers, Clarke was thrilled that it was. 

At the next stop, the driver animatedly yelled something back at Sgt Carey, prompting her to stand and get off of the bus with Clarke trailing behind her. The driver pointed them in the direction of the laundry facility, before peeling out on the road and disappearing in the dust.

This side of base was much less developed--the flight line, dormitories, and most units were all on the other side. They saw no one walking around, and the only sounds were the grumble of the bus driving away and the distant thump-thump-thump of helicopters touching down near the flight line. Lexa adjusted the M-16 on her back as they struck out toward the sprawling single-story building ahead of them that had a huge sign saying “LAUNDRY” and multiple lines of Dari written underneath. 

“You’ve never been over here, right?” Clarke asked.

“No, but I’ve always been curious. It’s like seeing the man behind the curtain. When there are no more mysteries on base, I guess it’s time to stop deploying and stay home.”

“How many times have you been deployed then? Marines must deploy all the time.” Clarke kicked one of the rocks on the gravel path they followed, trying to sound interested while not betraying that she actually felt the need to know everything about this woman as quickly as possible.

Lexa went through her mental list, counting them off on her fingers. “Started off in Iraq 4 years ago. Near Jalalabad the year after that. Kandahar and Helmand last year. And here we are all over again. They just can’t get enough of me, it seems. I’m in my last year of my enlistment now, so this should be it… unless I go temporarily insane and re-enlist.” 

“You’d have to be insane to re-enlist when they’re deploying you every year,” Clarke laughed. “Is that normal, or do they deploy you more because you can speak with the locals?” 

“You’re full of questions, aren’t you, “Lexa smirked slightly. “Am I the first Marine you’ve ever talked to? I know it can be overwhelming, being this close to a hardened warrior.”

“Please, I’ve talked to plenty of Marines. But usually they’re lying on a gurney and passed out from blood loss, so they don’t say much back.” Seeing the pained look on Lexa’s face, Clarke grimaced. “That may have been one of the more insensitive things I’ve ever said. Sorry. Especially if that has happened to people that you know.”

Lexa recovered her stoic expression quickly and ignored Clarke’s implied question. “If Marines are good at one thing, it’s shooting at things and getting shot at back. Hasn’t happened to me yet, though. Just one more deployment, and I won’t have to worry about it anymore.” 

Clarke rubbed the side of Lexa’s arm as they reached the front door of the laundry facility. “If it makes you feel any better, I get shot at too. It just happens when we’re flying at 300 miles per hour, so I think we’re a little harder to hit.

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better, but thanks for trying,” Lexa quipped, opening the door for Clarke and waiting for her to step inside.

Clarke smiled back at her as she entered the building. “No matter what they say about you, chivalry is not dead in the Marine Corps.”

They paused just inside the cavernous room, removing their sunglasses. Half of the warehouse was filled with stacks of washers and driers, while the other half was packed with large cubbies containing piles of dirty or clean bags of laundry. The smell of detergent competed with that of stale sweat, and most surfaces were covered in a layer of lint. Clarke imagined that might be a fire hazard, but like most facilities on base, safety standards were not always tightly adhered to (no matter what leadership said).

The sight of two attractive service members eventually caught the attention of several Afghan workers nearby, who proceeded to point, whisper, and laugh to each other, all of which made Clarke feel very self-conscious. One of the workers ran off deeper into the dim building.

Listening with obvious interest to the laundry workers who had begun gathering in front of them, Lexa snorted a laugh and turned to Clarke. “They’re comparing your hair to sunlight and your eyes to the spring sky. Who knew that Afghan men were so poetic.” 

Clarke’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “There’s no way they’re saying that. What are they really saying?”

“I have no idea--they’re speaking Pashto.” The huge, close-mouthed smile that ghosted across Lexa’s face took Clarke by surprise, and may have also taken her breath away. “But I wanted to compare your hair to sunlight and your eyes to the spring sky.”

Clarke never knew what to expect from this woman, in the best way possible. Apparently though, her mind had stopped working, because all she could do was stare into the other woman’s deep green eyes amid the whirring of washing machines and the jabbering of men in front of them. 

“Ma’am! Ma’am! How can I help?” 

Clarke was brought back into reality when a short, overweight Afghan man bounded up to them, wringing his hands in worry. He wore several large rings that looked to be surprisingly valuable. 

“Hello, sir,” Clarke spoke slowly, remembering that she was here on a mission, not just to flirt with Sgt Carey. “It has been six days since I turned in my laundry bag. I’m thinking it could be lost in here? Would you mind if I looked for it?” 

It took another few minutes of Clarke explaining the situation, and Lexa offering assistance in Dari as needed, before the man--Shapoor--adequately understood what they wanted. But when he did, he hurriedly brought them further back into the warehouse, to a couple of massive wooden bins, which held all of the dirty and clean laundry bags for the camp that contained Clarke’s squadron. 

He pointed to the two bins and mimed moving bags aside. “You look now. This bin and this bin, yes?”

A sharp yell on the other side of the laundry facility near the washing machines, followed by a stuttering that could only mean a serious malfunctioning of machinery, made Shapoor droop his shoulders and sigh. 

“I return, ma’m and ma’am,” Shapoor said, darting away and leaving the two women standing alone in front of mountains of laundry bags. 

Clarke looked over at the Marine, who was analyzing the laundry piles unhappily. “You don’t have to help me with this part, Lexa. Touching a hundred bags of Airmen’s dirty laundry is not in your job description.”

In answer, Lexa hopped over the short wooden wall of the container into the ocean of laundry bags and started throwing bags out to Clarke for her to check the laundry mark, which identified whose bag it was.

“Seriously, Lexa, you don’t have to--”

“Clarke, I’m helping,” Lexa declared as she shot one of the bag’s at Clarke’s face.

Clarke managed to catch it just in time. She gaped at the Marine, before throwing the bag right back at her with as much force as she could muster. Lexa caught it no problem and laughed--actually laughed out loud--as she looked at Clarke. 

Well shit. Clarke needed to make her laugh again as much as possible. But maybe she could find a better way than chucking bags of strangers’ filthy clothes at her. (Maybe her own clothes, taken from her body, would be better. Yes, much better. She tucked that thought away for later).

**********

They had checked every laundry tag of every bag in those bins, and no joy. Initially, several of the laundry workers happened to have very lingering chores to do within eyeshot of the two women: sweeping the same patch of floor over and over, laboriously tossing laundry bags that must have been filled with heavy boulders into bins, and repeatedly pushing the same cart of laundry back and forth behind them. But over the course of the hour it took the women to check all of the bags, even the workers had lost interest--or been sufficiently scolded for neglecting their work--and they had returned to their jobs. 

“It’s official,” Clarke declared, leaning back against the bin and chugging a bottle of water. “I have one flight suit, one set of PT gear, and three pairs of underwear. What the fuck am I supposed to do.” 

Lexa was already wandering down the aisle lined by laundry bins away from Clarke. She looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “Why don’t we take a look around? You never know what we might find.” 

Clarke wasn’t sure why, but that made her heartbeat quicken. She was pretty sure that Lexa could suggest winding themselves up in barbed wire and rolling off a cliff, and Clarke’s body would still react like this to her voice. 

One section of the warehouse had tables and chairs, where some of the workers were sitting together eating dinner. Lexa crouched down behind some laundry carts to get past them without them seeing, and Clarke followed suit. 

Leaning close to the Marine, Clarke whispered, “You seem strangely skilled at this.”

“Must have been all that recon training I’ve taken.”

Clarke just raised an eyebrow.

“Or… I may have hidden from the cops, once or twice,” Lexa admitted. “Before the Marine Corps, of course.”

“Of course,” Clarke smiled. Who had this woman been before she had put on the uniform? Another mystery to explore, but maybe when they weren’t hiding from Afghan workers for reasons that weren’t immediately clear to Clarke.

They reached what looked like the main office, where Shapoor was animatedly yelling at one of his employees. They snuck past them too.

“What could that room over there be?” Lexa asked, pointing to a closed door a few doors down from the main office. “It has a huge padlock on it--but the lock’s open.”

“No idea,” Clarke said, before cocking an eyebrow “But I have a feeling that we’re going to find out.” 

Lexa’s eyes flashed with amusement. “We haven’t come this far to give up now.”

“Definitely not,” Clarke agreed with a steady gaze. “I’m not giving up until I get what I want.” 

She wasn’t talking about laundry anymore. And judging by Lexa’s brief but obvious glance down at Clarke’s chest, Lexa knew that too. Good.

Clarke emerged from their laundry cart cover first, running low over to the door and removing the padlock. Lexa ran up right behind her, and they burst into the room and shut the door softly behind them, only laughing when their backs were safely leaning against the door. But the two women’s laughter petered out quickly when they gazed around the room. 

Everywhere--on the walls, covering chairs and tables, and even hanging from the ceiling--were pair upon pair of underwear. Lacy panties; frilly panties; lacy, frilly panties; boxers with red lips; boxers with super hero characters; striped boy shorts; fire engine red boxer briefs; white granny panties; and literally hundreds of thongs in every color of the rainbow. It was a pink and purple paradise, punctuated with checker patterns and polka dots. If there were candles, fruit offerings, and a portrait of a holy thong, it would be a shrine to all things underpants. The mystery of everyone’s missing laundry appeared to be over.

The women stared in stunned silence, before Clarke turned to Lexa and mouthed a quiet “Oh. My. God.” 

Voices sounded from outside of the room, followed by footsteps that seemed to stop immediately outside of the door with the open padlock.

“Quick, Clarke, into the closet,” Lexa whispered forcefully, pushing Clarke toward a closet door in the corner.

They both just managed to get inside the closet and shut the door behind them, when the door into the underwear room opened, and two Afghan workers walked in, chattering to one another and laughing. 

But to be honest, Clarke didn’t quite care--she had other things on her mind. The closet was tiny, just enough room for them both to stand. Large cracks at the bottom and top of the door let in some light from the main room. Luckily for them, the walls and surfaces of the closet were blessedly underwear-free. It was empty except for a couple of hung coats.

Clarke was facing the door, with her back to the closet wall, while Lexa was turning back to her after shutting the door silently behind her. They were both trying to catch their breath as quietly as possible so the men outside didn’t hear them. She didn’t know what would happen to them if they were caught, but she didn’t intend to find out. And… and… her thoughts came to a screeching halt as she realized that she was alone and dangerously close to Lexa, just like in the bunker, but without dozens of people around them or the threat of a rocket attack.

Clarke gulped, suddenly unable to look away from Lexa. The Marine’s green eyes were unwavering. A few strands of curly brown hair had come out from her braids and framed her face softly. Although they had been standing there for a few seconds, Lexa’s breathing showed no sign of slowing down. And Clarke had no intention of allowing it to.

The men outside must have finished whatever business they had, because they left from the same door and left the women alone--truly alone. Clarke’s mouth seemed so dry that she had to swallow again before whispering “Really, Lexa, the closet? Is this some kind of reverse symbolism?”

Lexa’s eyes kept flickering down to the Airman’s lips. She (none-too-subtly) licked her own lips before responding. “I am very out of the closet, I assure you. But if I knew you had been in here all along…” Lexa drifted closer to Clarke, closing the small distance between them. 

Clarke realized she was holding her breath. And then that her hands were no longer hanging at her sides, but had moved to Lexa’s waist, her thumbs pushing through the belt loops. She pulled Lexa towards her all at once, their bodies making contact from their chests all the way down to their cores. If anyone had been in the adjoining room, they would surely have heard Lexa’s gasp of surprise.

But Lexa quickly overcame it, because her lips moved steadily to Clarke’s. Considering the position of their bodies, it was remarkably tentative--a mere brushing of the lips, as if she was still unsure if Clarke wanted this. 

Clarke’s hand moved to cup Lexa’s cheek, and she brought their lips firmly together. The charge that filled her was overwhelming, spreading from their many points of contact all the way down to her toes. It was hard to remember if she were standing, or lying down, or floating. Still not satisfied with the electricity running through her, Clarke flicked her tongue across the other woman’s lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from the other woman. Lexa’s arms had wound their way around Clarke’s back, and Clarke could not believe the strength that she could feel in that simple motion. 

Lexa nipped softly at Clarke’s lip, and Clarke opened her mouth wider, hoping that she got the hint. Lexa eagerly deepened the kiss with her tongue, and at this point Clarke was hanging onto her for dear life. Still, she managed to reposition her leg in between Lexa’s, and Lexa released a hot gasp into her mouth. Clarke rocked her leg slowly in between the Marine’s legs, and Lexa’s body began matching the same rhythm as she enjoyed the friction. Lexa broke the kiss, only to migrate down to Clarke’s neck with a trail of long kisses. Clarke’s head rolled backward as she moaned, which must have encouraged Lexa further, as she began nipping and sucking along her pulse point. 

“Sergeant Carey,” Clarke gasped, “this is highly unprofessional behavior.” 

Lexa’s eyes were full of lust as she looked at Clarke. “Depends what your profession is.” 

Clarke smiled as Lexa’s lips found hers again. The kiss was sloppy as Lexa’s taut body pushed Clarke’s into the back of the closet. She reached for Clarke’s hands and held them above the blonde’s head with one of her own, taking the zipper of Clarke’s flight suit in the other. “Is this OK?” she breathed as she broke contact with Clarke’s lips.

Clarke could only nod, causing a knowing smirk to cross Lexa’s face. She backed away slightly and slowly unzipped the flight suit to Clarke’s waist, still holding her wrists in her other hand. Clarke’s body twisted as she craved more contact with the other woman, but Lexa kept her distance for a few moments longer before putting her free hand around Clarke’s waist under the flight suit and pulling her close again. Her fingers wandered under Clarke’s tan T-shirt around her hip bones to the soft skin below. Clarke went in for another kiss and could feel the heat rising within her, uncontrollable and unsatisfied.

But the impossibly loud telephone ring that filled the closet a moment later put a hold on that. Lexa rapidly pulled the cell phone from her pocket, her eyes apologizing to Clarke. “Oh shit.” She answered it and put the phone to her ear, her face still inches away from Clarke’s and her hand on her stomach. “Gunnery Sergeant Anya. Yes, my dental visit is taking longer than I expected…. Of course, I’m on my way.”

Lexa ended the call, returning the phone to her pocket. She rubbed Clarke’s toned stomach and smiled--actually smiled. It filled Clarke with a different kind of warmth. “I may have had to invent a pretty obvious lie to get out of training Afghans today.” 

“I’m glad you did,” Clarke said with a grin. “Who else would have thrown me every single bag of laundry in those crates back there?” 

“Is that the only reason you’re glad I came today?” Lexa breathed, leaning closer.

Clarke looked at her from under her eyelashes. “You haven’t come yet--but that could change.” 

She saw Lexa’s obvious struggle to not lean in for another kiss, but her head won out and she stepped back, exhaling forcefully. “Good God, Clarke… But I have to go. Of all times for Anya to notice I’m gone…” 

“Hey,” Clarke said, touching her arm,”it’s not like we won’t have another chance--I’ll make sure we do, if that’s what you want, too.” 

Lexa frowned, obviously thinking heavy thoughts. She unwittingly touching her left breast pocket before realizing what she was doing and dropping her arm quickly. “You never know around here,” she muttered. “Things can… happen, and everything changes. But I really should go.” 

“Of course,” Clarke said, brow furrowing. She wasn’t sure what had come over Lexa, but her flirtatious mood had vanished. Was it just the thought of having to go back to work, or had she changed her mind about Clarke? She wanted to know what was going through Lexa’s head, but now wasn’t the time.

The two women emerged from the closet into the bright room full of underwear (part of Clarke desperately needed to know if they were clean or dirty, but she decided that some things were best left alone). By some miracle, no one saw them leave the room to the main part of the laundry facility, which saved them a very long and very awkward conversation with Shapoor. 

On their way out, they passed the laundry bins that they had spent hours searching through. Lexa seemed to be struck with a thought, and she took a quick look behind them, in a small space between the rows of back-to-back laundry bins. Clarke looked on as she squeezed her body between them.

“Clarke, you won’t believe this…” Lexa called out, popping out from the space with a bag of laundry held triumphantly above her head in both hands.

Clarke’s jaw dropped. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Lexa, you’re a genius!” She pulled the Marine into a hug, before realizing how close that put their faces and how risky that was in a warehouse full of workers. She swallowed and pulled away, taking the laundry bag. “I already owe you just for coming out here--and now you’re the one who found it. What could I possibly do to repay you?”

Based on the small smirk that Lexa gave her, some of the Marine’s playfulness had returned. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” 

Shapoor came bounding up to them in that moment, out of breath per usual. “You have found! Very good! You come back later?”

Clarke laughed at how enthusiastic he was for them to visit again. “Maybe we will, Shapoor. But we have to go. Thanks for your help today.”

He smiled and waved at them as they left into the bright sun and blazing heat of the Kandahar afternoon.

**********

When Clarke had returned to her dorm room, she dumped the laundry bag onto her bed and folded all of her clothes, putting them away into the dresser. But one thing was missing: her favorite pair of underwear.

Goddammit, Shapoor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to say that the plot twist here was just for laughs, and entirely fictitious (if that wasn't obvious). I have the utmost respect for Afghan workers on base, and I wish them all the best in the days to come.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I assure you that things are only going up from here!


	6. Cocked and Locked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best time to share your deepest feelings is when you have a weapon in your hand, obviously. This chapter's pretty angsty. Sorry not sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support! It's actually really cool having people read what I write and giving me internet high fives. Low fives are also accepted.

“So then… Oh God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Drink up, buttercup--we’re just getting to the good part, and there’s no way I’m letting you off the hook now.”

Clarke took another drink of homemade wine from her red Solo cup. Who had decided party cups were an essential item to ship to Afghanistan? She didn’t much care at this point. “No, but shouldn’t I not kiss and tell? That seems like a pretty basic life rule.”

Raven’s eyes widened, and she nearly spilled wine all over herself as she squirmed in her seat. “Oh my God, are you telling me that you guys made out?! You better spill the details, right fucking now. Sergeant.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. They were sitting on the roof of the covered smoking pit that some inspired (and bored) lieutenants had made at the medical evacuation squadron. There were a few metal folding chairs, a table, and most importantly, Jasper’s simple set-up for wine: a bucket of grape juice in the hot sun goes a long way in making an alcoholic beverage that may be far from palatable, but still gets the job done. Most people in the squadron didn’t know about it, but Clarke and Raven were among the privileged few. If squadron leadership ever found out about it, everyone would have to vigorously deny it to avoid punishment.

The sun was setting, their standby shift was done, and Clarke was having a hard time finding excuses to be responsible. Hence her second cup of wine.

“So, there we were, crammed into the closet after seeing the… abomination of the underwear room. Shit, Reyes, you really don’t understand how terrifying that was…”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Raven dismissed, waving her hand that wasn’t holding her cup of wine. “But what happened next? The kissing part, if you don’t remember.”

“Oh I remember…” Clarke seemingly lost track of her thoughts, as she stared into the distance towards the flight line and a hillside beyond base that was partially obscured by dust. “It was… so fucking hot. Fuck. What am I doing with my life? I’m making out with Marines in closets on my days off.”

“Is there more than one Marine?” Raven asked dryly. “Because you shouldn’t be selfish and take them all for yourself. There’s other single, horny people on base, Griffin!”

Clarke took another gulp of her wine. “I mean… she’s really hot, no joke. But there’s something about her… When she looks at me--really looks at me--I swear, I’m paralyzed. But in the best way possible, like the moment is lasting forever, and I never want it to end. She’s really confident most of the time, and passionate, and talented… but sometimes I sense this vulnerability, and I feel like she isn’t able to show that to a lot of people, you know?”

“Yawn, Griffin,” Raven sighed. “I just wanted to know if she’s fingered you through your flight suit yet.” 

Clarke choked on her wine, just as Jasper climbed to the top of the ladder. “Did someone say fingered?”

“Gross, Jasper,” Reyes spat, grimacing at him as he settled himself into a chair across from them. “Can’t you see that we’re having a girls-only chat? No boys allowed.”

“I’m always allowed when you’re drinking my wine. Brewmaster’s privilege. It’s the law, especially in Afghanistan,” Jasper argued as he poured himself a glass of wine. “And besides, Clarke’s basically a dude anyway--I think we have the same taste in women, actually.”

“Oh really?” Clarke asked curiously. “What is it that you look for in a woman, exactly?”

Jasper scrunched his face as he thought. “Well… they should have breasts. Big ones… or small ones. Probably a huge ass. Unless it’s one of those tight, shapely asses… And preferably a face.”

Clarke laughed in amazement, finishing her drink. “Yeah, you have some really specific requirements, Jasper.”

“I think you just described every human that has ever existed,” Raven pondered. “And to be honest, those aren’t far from my requirements. Human, with a shape that isn’t an amorphous blob. I’m into that.” 

“This is why I share my wine with you guys,” Jasper said, lifting his glass. “We have so much in common. Cheers to humans with describable shapes!”

“Cheers!” Clarke and Raven cried out, but not too loudly to attract the attention of anyone in the administrative tent.

***********

Clarke was doing a great job walking home. She had been walking in a (nearly) straight line, had saluted officers passing by, had not saluted non-officers passing by, and she was generally being very sneaky about the fact that she had just indulged in three glasses of Jasper’s wine. It had been over three months, ever since she had left California, since she had been good and drunk. But buzzed now, and well on her way to drunk, felt amazing. She wouldn’t describe herself as a party type of girl, but the combination of being a college student and in the military meant that she drank more often than she would ever admit to her mom (and more than she would ever admit on her public health assessment--according to her annual medical check-up paperwork, she never had more than three drinks per evening and certainly didn’t drink more than once per month. Everyone she knew lied through their teeth about this, and the doctors always just smiled and nodded. Dumbasses.) 

Clarke was whistling off-tune and swinging her arms a little too vigorously, when she glanced over to the basketball courts and stopped dead in her tracks. 

Lexa’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail, long, wavy, thick. She was playing basketball with three other Marines--the same ones that Clarke had met that night at the coffee shop. And she was wearing Marine Corps PT gear… gloriously small, gloriously tight Marine Corps PT gear. The green silkies shorts didn’t go past mid-thigh, and when she ran, they slid further up to reveal incredibly toned legs. Her olive green T-shirt fit snugly in all of the right places, accentuating certain curves that hadn’t been on display in her cammies. Lexa drove past two of the other Marines--Cpl Lincoln and LCpl Blake, if memory served her--for a lay-up, before turning around and high-fiving GySgt Anya. 

“Dammit, Lincoln, the old farts are actually winning!” Clarke heard LCpl Blake groan to her teammate. “Why don’t you take off your shirt and distract them with your muscles. 

Lincoln winked at her. “I think you’d be the only one distracted, Blake. And the excuses you keep coming up with for me to strip are becoming desperate.” 

Blake passed the ball to him hard in reply. “The only thing I’m desperate for is not to lose to the senior citizens over here.”

Lexa looked exasperated. “Blake, I’m 24.”

“Exactly,” Blake said, receiving a pass from Lincoln and dribbling hard toward the basket. But Anya saw her coming from a mile away and blocked her shot effortlessly.

“These ‘senior citizens’ appear to be kicking your ass,” Anya taunted as she dribbled back to middle court. “Maybe if you stopped flirting with your teammate and started playing for a change, you’d be able to lose with less embarrassment than you are now.”

Lexa laughed and looked away from the basketball court--and right at Clarke, who was still gaping at her, jaw dropped slightly. Lexa turned to Anya and whispered something that Clarke couldn’t hear, but Anya’s reply was clear.

“The Airman, again, really?” Anya shook her head. “What’s happening to the Marine Corps? A bunch of sappy romantics, all of you…”

Lexa ran over to the side of the basketball court, where a low wall separated the court from the sidewalk and road. Clarke finally came to her senses enough to move from the spot where she had been temporarily immobilized. She realized that this was the most of Lexa she had ever seen, and her heart raced at the thought. Part of her realized how pathetic it was to be this excited by a woman in shorts and a T-shirt, but what could she do. Deployments, right? 

Lexa folded her arms on the top of the wall, which put a tribal tattoo on her upper arms on full display. A small grin spread across her face. “See something you like, Staff Sergeant Griffin?” 

Clarke’s laugh was far too loud for the situation, and Lexa looked at her sideways. “Either I’m hilarious, or I should be a little offended right now…” 

“No Lexa, you’re great just the way you are,” Clarke beamed at her. “ I was just… everything seems pretty funny right now. Are those tattoos? Let me see. Are you busy?”

Lexa frowned at her for another moment. “Are you dru--. Well. Gunny Anya and I are finally ending our losing streak to Lincoln and Blake. And I have a briefing later tonight about Helmand. So it’s not really a good time.”

“Oh, nevermind, it’s fine,” Clarke said, waving her hand overdramatically in front of herself for a few seconds.

Lexa grabbed her hand and held it down on top of the wall, raising an eyebrow. “Whatever you’ve had to drink tonight, I want some. But you probably shouldn’t let too many people see you like this. They might ask some unpleasant questions. There’s a time and a place for deployment drunkenness, but I don’t think in broad daylight, and right in front of a gunnery sergeant, is it.”

“You really do care about me, don’t you?” Clarke smiled down at the hand that Lexa was still holding on the wall.

“Out of everything I just said, that’s the part that you payed attention to?” Lexa squeezed her hand, then let go and folded her arms again. “Can you make it to the range tomorrow? It’s our last training day out there, and I’d really like to have you shoot before I ship out.”

“Yeah, tomorrow before work.” Clarke leaned closer to her over the wall, missing their contact. “And I haven’t forgotten that I owe you for helping me get my laundry.” 

Lexa’s stare intensified, which Clarke was quickly learning to associate with these types of interactions of theirs. Her expressions had been difficult for her to read at first, but they--especially the lustful ones--were becomes clearer. 

“Shooting bullets downrange and… what you have in mind may not work well together,” Lexa said. “But we’ll find a time for you to repay me, I’m sure.” 

“I’m sure, too,” Clarke smiled up at her. 

Behind Lexa, LCpl Blake started waving her arms wildly over her head. “Sgt Carey, yo! We have a game to finish! Just because you’re old, doesn’t mean you get extra time to catch your breath.” 

Lexa shook her head at Clarke. “Seriously, I’m 24.” 

Clarke couldn’t help laughing at her. “Better get over there, grandma, before the kids get too restless. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“Tomorrow,” Lexa promised, before begrudgingly turning back to the other Marines there. “Lance Corporal Blake, have they stopped teaching the rank system at Parris Island, or do you knowingly disrespect your NCOs?”

Smiling to herself, Clarke turned and walked towards her dorm. With how Lexa had been treating her for the past week and a half, it was easy to forget that she really was a Marine, through and through. But Clarke was glad she was--she snuck another look back toward the basketball court to admire those ridiculously short green shorts once again. Yes, learning about other branches of the military was and would continue to be a worthwhile activity. 

**********

Clarke pulled her arms through her shoulder holster and tugged her ABU top down. She wore her ABUs so infrequently, it was always a bit of an adjustment to get used to wearing real pants and a blouse again, rather than her flightsuit that was really just a glorified onesie. How she had managed to land a job where she could wear the uniform equivalent of pajamas still baffled her. The extra pay for flight status and hazardous duty pay while deployed didn’t hurt either. 

But today, her flight suit was tucked into her backpack, so she could change for her flight after going to the range to see Lexa. She supposed seeing Lexa wasn’t the only reason she was going… but it was the most important reason. It would also be good to shoot again, since Air Force firearm training was so infrequent.

After breakfast, Clarke took the bus over to the firing range. It wasn’t quite as far as the laundry facility, but it was still quite a distance from the main part of base. Not a whole lot about the base layout made sense (having the sanitation pond right across the street from some of the dorms came to mind), but not forcing everyone to hear the constant shooting of bullets while they were trying to sleep was nice.

As Clarke walked into the squat building that served as the entryway to the range, a Marine who was absent-mindedly spinning in his chair behind the desk burst to his feet. “Staff Sergeant,” he greeted as he opened a log book sitting on the desk. “Are you scheduled to shoot today? It’s pretty full already.”

“Yes, I’m shooting with Sgt Carey’s unit,” Clarke explained, signing in.

“Ah, OK. Wait here, Staff Sergeant.” He walked out the door to the back and returned a minute later with Lexa in tow.

Lexa, already covered in dust from a full morning on the range, took in Clarke in ABUs with one quick glance that traveled all down and back up her body. “Perfect timing, Staff Sergeant Griffin. I have a few minutes before the Afghans begin shooting again. You can pick up earpro and a few extra magazines, and I’ll meet you outside”

Lexa was coolly professional, per usual. Clarke was getting used to their interactions starting this way, at least when they were in public, but she expected they wouldn’t end that way.

When Clarke had received four 20-bullet magazines from the Marine behind the desk, she stepped out into the bright sunlight onto the range. There was a thick rope in the sand marking where the shooters were supposed to stand, and paper targets set up about 50 feet away. Some Marines near her were firing M16s, but they paused when an angry voice broke out further down the line. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Never point that thing at me!” 

Clarke saw another Marine, First Lieutenant Indra according to her lapels and nametape, pushing down the muzzle of an M16 that an Afghan soldier was holding. It had drifted up from the low ready position while he was standing on the side of the range near her. With the rifle now safely aimed at the ground instead of her body, 1Lt Indra’s face had moved two inches from his and radiated hostility.

“Don’t think I won’t kill you” she hissed at the soldier. “I won’t be another friendly fire casualty. And I will not fucking hesitate to replace you with someone who understands something as goddamn simple as not pointing your weapon at something you don’t intend to shoot.”

Lexa was running toward them as soon as she heard 1Lt Indra begin yelling at the soldier. During her rant, he shrank back with a terrified but ultimately confused expression. When she was done, he blinked at her a few times and rattled off a phrase in Dari, which only seemed to infuriate 1Lt Indra further. 

Luckily, Lexa had arrived by that point and motioned for 1Lt Indra to calm down. 1Lt Indra took in a shaky breath and finally turned away, storming toward the building and raving at every Marine in her path.

“Why aren’t you fucking firing? Is that what you call prone position? You’d be fucking dead in seconds. Get your muzzle out of the dirt. Jesus fucking Christ….” 1Lt Indra disappeared into the building and slammed the door behind her.

Lexa, her rifle in hand, seemed to be explaining the low ready position in Dari to the one Afghan soldier in particular, but all of the other soldiers there were paying attention as well. Some of them nodded and repositioned their rifles, occasionally glancing beyond Lexa to the building where 1Lt Indra had gone and whispering to each other. Lexa yelled what no doubt was “shut up” to them in Dari and continued her explanation in the silence that followed. 

Clarke couldn’t help but be amazed by this woman. And puzzled as to what her unit would do without her--not being able to communicate effectively with the Afghan soldiers they were required to work with seemed frustrating at best and deadly at worst. 

Her lecture done, Lexa returned to Clarke with wide, exasperated eyes. “The fun never ends   
around here.”

“They have to get it eventually,” Clarke reassured, before looking back toward the soldiers who were already relaxing their stances and joking around, impersonating 1Lt Indra and her tirade from before. “How hard can it be to not point your weapon at each other?” 

“Extremely hard, evidently,” Lexa sighed. “I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t already happened three times today. Lieutenant Indra might actually shoot one of them one. Probably somewhere non-lethal, but I’d still be worried if I were them.” 

“They really need you around here. How do they expect to train people that they can’t even talk to? It can’t be working well.”

Lexa shook her head. “It’s really not. And the Afghans’ training so far has been minimal. We’ve had to start from the beginning with most of them. And when you’re supposed to be patrolling with them in a few days… it’s not a comforting feeling.”

“If anyone can train them in time, it’s you,” Clarke encouraged with a tight smile. “From what I’ve seen, you’re Dari is excellent, and you’re respected by the other Marines in your unit.”

“Except Lance Corporal Blake,” Lexa interrupted with a short laugh.

“I don’t think she respects anyone,” Clarke grinned. She had been wanting to relax Lexa, and it seemed to be working. “But maybe you could make some more progress with the Afghan soldiers if you promise them the same things you did to the ice cream guy…” 

Lexa’s eyes danced, even as the rest of her face was expressionless. “I can see that plan backfiring, Clarke. Besides, if I keep exchanging Playboys for favors, they could prosecute me under General Order 1 for starting an illegal business. Not worth it.”

“I don’t know if not shooting you is considered a favor,” Clarke joked. “But you probably want to keep the Playboys to yourself. I get it.” 

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “I much prefer women in real life than unrealistic, photoshopped women.”

Clarke leaned closer. “But the women in real life are still wearing clothes.”

“For now,” Lexa smirked. 

Clarke loved all of the dirty promises captured within that smirk, but her cheeks still reddened involuntarily. She cleared her throat. “So about this weapons range…” 

Lexa’s gaze lingered for another long moment, before she showed Clarke to the end of the line alongside the Marines who had started shooting again a few minutes before. “Alright, clear your weapon, and then I’d first like to see you fire from the standing position. Whenever you’re ready, Clarke.”

For Clarke, this was a golden opportunity: she could demonstrate that, despite Airmen being far less combat-oriented than Marines, she still knew her way around a weapon. She could dispel the myth of Chair Force once and for all--if she didn’t screw this up.

Clarke cleared the M9 in the clearing barrel, releasing the magazine and locking the slide to the rear and inspecting the chamber to ensure that there were no bullets lodged inside. So far so good. She replaced the magazine, returned to the firing line, and spread her feet to shoulder-width. Lexa looking on behind her, Clarke raised the M9, released the safety, took aim, and fired at the target’s center mass downrange three times.

The good news: all of her shots hit the target. The bad news: her shots were scattered and imprecise. She looked back at Lexa.

“OK, first of all,” Lexa began, stepping closer. “Your stance is good. Keep your feet that far apart. Your elbows, though, should be more bent…”

Lexa reached around Clarke with both arms, hands covering Clarke’s and forcing her arms to bend. Her breath brushed against Clarke’s cheek as she perfected the positioning. “This is more steady and will make your shots more precise.”

“Precise… right…” Clarke’s face was involuntarily shifting toward the left, toward Lexa’s. She didn’t know when she had begun holding her breath, but she inhaled deeply and felt her body melt into Lexa’s. Her eyes flicked upward to Lexa’s, and she realized the Marine had been staring at her the whole time.

“Eyes toward your target, Staff Sergeant Griffin,” Lexa teased, fully knowing the effect she was having on the other woman.

“They are,” Clarke said softly, her eyes still locked on Lexa’s. 

Lexa’s smile was brief, but Clarke’s stomach flipped seeing it. She could not wait to be alone with this woman again. It was quickly becoming a physical need, not just a desire. Clarke looked back to the firing target once she was sure that Lexa had fully understood her point.

Lexa lowered her hands from Clarke’s, but didn’t move away from the blonde, her body still close enough for Clarke to feel her heat. “Loose grip. Only the fingertip should be touching the trigger. Steady your breathing… Why is your breathing so fast, Clarke?”

Clarke took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “You know why.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it later,” Lexa breathed into her ear. It sent a shudder through Clarke, which was not lost on the Marine. “Steady breaths… fire on the exhale. Gently pull the trigger with the tip of the finger.”

It took Clarke a few breaths until she was sufficiently steady, but she followed Lexa’s directions and fired three more rounds. The kickback, although minimal from the M9, still sent her shoulders back into Lexa’s. She didn’t mind. 

“If your target were a man, he would no longer be having children,” Lexa said, looking downrange to where Clarke’s shots had landed. “But maybe you should aim at the chest this time.”

Clarke glared back at her before taking aim at the target once again. “Or maybe I’m a genius, and this is what we should have been doing all along.”

“I’m serious, Clarke.” Lexa said, brow furrowing. “The chest or the head. Those are the shots that could save your life.”

“I’m working on it,” Clarke muttered as she looked down the sights and steadied her breathing once again. Sometimes it was hard keeping up with Lexa’s rapid change in tone: joking one minute, then convinced that Clarke was going to die the next. To be sure, deployed life was inherently more dangerous than being stateside, but Clarke would appreciate if Lexa chilled the fuck out. 

One of the Marines standing with the Afghan soldiers down the line called out, “Sergeant Carey, one of the Afghans has a question, but I don’t have a clue what he’s trying to say.”

“Go ahead and fire the rest of your rounds, Clarke,” Lexa instructed. “Remember, it’s all about breathing and lightly squeezing the trigger.”

Lexa hurried off to the waiting Marines and Afghans, leaving Clarke to aim and fire. It was markedly easier for her to control her breathing when Lexa wasn’t standing directly behind her, go figure. 

When Lexa returned several minutes later, Clarke was firing her last rounds. Her groupings were much closer now, but she had stubbornly decided to still aim at the groin for a couple of them. She was proud to say that her target was thoroughly emasculated. 

“Better, Clarke. But some of your groupings are still too low.”

Clarke went to the clearing barrel and made sure the chamber was clear. “But you admit that I have groupings. That’s progress. Anything else on the agenda, Sgt Carey? I still have an hour before I need to leave to make my show time.”

Scanning the soldiers and Marines firing, Lexa turned back to her. “I don’t think anyone will shoot themselves in the foot for a few minutes. We can practice hand-to-hand combat, if you like.”

“I like the sound of that,” Clarke smirked, but Lexa’s expression remained stony. 

“We have some mats set up in the back room. Come on.”

They made their way into the main building and behind the front desk. The Marine that had processed Clarke was sprawled out in his rolling chair, head back, snoring lightly. Lexa kicked his chair as they passed, sending him rolling across the room. He came awake with a start, flailing.

“Just be glad it was me catching you instead of Lieutenant Indra,” Lexa scolded. “Don’t let me catch you sleeping again.”

“Aye, Sergeant!” the Marine yelled, standing as they passed through the door behind the desk.

Down the hallway, there was a small room with mirror-covered walls and mats covering the floor. Lexa closed the door behind them, but said nothing.

Clarke scanned the room, before raising an eyebrow at Lexa. “So… it’s just the two of us.”

Lexa removed her rifle from her back and propped it in one of the corners. 

“Alone,” Clarke continued determinedly.

Lexa still didn’t turn to her.

“By ourselves.” Clarke was confused by this point. This woman had been flirting with her incessantly for over a week, and now she wouldn’t even look at her? 

Lexa had been searching through a box containing various mock weapons and selected a plastic knife. “The first technique we’ll cover,” Lexa said, turning, “will be a counter to a knife attack coming from behind. We should take off our blouses before we begin.”

“Is this an excuse to get me to take my clothes off? Because there are easier ways,” Clarke teased as she undid her blouse buttons and quirked an eyebrow. 

Taking off her own blouse, Lexa shot her a glare. “Focus, Clarke. This is important.” 

Clarke sighed. This wasn’t going the way she thought it would. Still, she piled her pistol and ABU blouse into a corner and stood in front of the Marine. She pretended not to be distracted by the swell of Lexa’s breasts in front of her under the green T-shirt fabric, or by the tribal tattoos that were partially concealed under the sleeves. Right, she was definitely not distracted and definitely focused on learning self-defense (if it meant touching Lexa, at least).

Lexa handed her the knife and turned her back towards her, all business. “I want you to wrap both arms around me and hold the knife to my throat.”

Clarke did as she was instructed. A split second later, she found herself on the floor with the air knocked out of her, Lexa kneeling on top of her holding the knife to Clarke’s throat. 

“Holy shit, Lexa. Ease up, will you?” Clarke complained as Lexa got off of her and waited for Clarke to get to her feet.

“The enemy won’t take it easy on you, so why should I?” Lexa handed back the knife turned her back to her again. “This time, I’ll walk you through the steps.”

After Clarke attacked her once again, Lexa explained each of her moves as she did them slowly: she grabbed Clarke’s wrists, pulling away the hand with the knife; eased out her own right foot; moved her other leg behind Clarke’s; and twisted her body, sweeping Clarke’s leg out from under her and causing her to crash onto the mat. Still holding her wrists, Lexa took the knife and pretended to stab down into Clarke’s body. Despite everything being done in slow motion, Clarke’s back didn’t feel any less bruised. 

“Now it’s your turn,” Lexa said. “If you follow each step, flipping me on the ground should be easy.”

Of course it wasn’t easy. Clarke struggled with the final step of twisting and sweeping Lexa’s leg out from under her to make her fall onto the ground.

“Again, Clarke.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

After needing Lexa to demonstrate the move to her for the fiftieth time and getting flipped onto her back time and time again, Clarke had had enough. 

“Lexa, what the fuck? Why are you being so persistent with this? The chances of me getting attacked from behind by a knife-wielding Taliban is… literally zero. It is never going to happen. I fly in a C-130, for Christ’s sake.”

Lexa had been kneeling on Clarke’s stomach, holding the knife above her. She climbed off, throwing the mock knife onto the ground aggressively and and walking toward one of the walls, hands on her hips. She likely thought that such a move would give her some privacy, but with the mirrors on every wall, Clarke could still see her face clearly. Judging by how quickly she was blinking and how she pursed her lips, Lexa was also frustrated and attempting to get her emotions under control. With a loud sigh, she turned back to Clarke. “I have something to tell you.”

Clarke, sitting cross-legged on the ground, patted the floor in front of her. This sounded serious, but maybe she would find out what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. “You can tell me anything, Lexa.”

Lexa took a deep breath, then came and sat in front of Clarke, staring down at her hands. “I lost someone special to me. Her name was Costia.” She pulled out the photo of the raven-haired woman from her pocket, handing it to Clarke.

Clarke didn’t need to look down at the photo--she had already analyzed it endlessly while she was waiting to return it to Lexa--but hearing who was in the photo changed everything. “What happened to her?”

Back straight, Lexa betrayed no emotion save the unfallen tears that brightened her eyes. “Our unit was stationed at Camp Ramadi in Iraq. The situation there was volatile: insurgents were using Ramadi as their headquarters. Every patrol was being hit by attacks and roadside bombs, and we couldn’t make any progress securing the city.” 

She took back the photo of Costia, stroking it lightly. “Our camp was hit by a truck carrying hundreds of pounds of explosives. It destroyed the front gate, allowing insurgents and suicide bombers into the camp. It was chaos.” 

Clarke looked on with concern, but she remained silent. 

“Costia and I were pinned down behind some sandbags. It was past midnight, and we were blinded by the fires and smoke. Her rifle had jammed, so she was trying to point out insurgents for me to shoot.”

Lexa paused, her eyes glossy, and continued with an emotionless voice. “We didn’t notice the insurgent that had snuck up behind us in the dark. He grabbed Costia from behind, and… he… he slit her throat with a knife. I only noticed what had happened, because she managed to grab my arm before she hit the ground…. I hit the insurgent with the end of my rifle so many times that they couldn’t identify him after the battle.”

“Lexa, I’m so sorry,” Clarke said, eyes welling up with tears. “I figured she was important to you, but… no one should have to go through that.”

“We had been dating for 14 months by that point,” Lexa murmured, staring unblinkingly at the photo, lost in her thoughts. “We were planning on getting an apartment together when we got back to Camp Pendleton. But Iraq ruined that.” She looked up at Clarke for the first time since she had sat down. “And I’m afraid that Afghanistan will ruin this.” 

Clarke remembered to breathe a moment later. She placed her hand on Lexa’s knee and squeezed, hoping that would give some amount of comfort to the Marine. “No one is going to hurt either of us. I may not be the best shot, or hand-to-hand fighter, but I can hold my own. And for the rest, that’s why we keep you Marines around. We’re in this together now. And even though you’ll be in Helmand and I’ll be here, nothing’s going to happen to us.”

“You don’t know that, Clarke.” Lexa’s lack of expression made Clarke’s heart ache.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Clarke conceded, leaning towards here. “But I do know one thing.” She placed a soft kiss on Lexa’s lips. It was infinitely softer and sweeter than their hot, desperate kisses from the days before. Lexa responded eventually, seemingly despite herself. Clarke broke away first, putting their foreheads together. “I know that no matter what, we’re gonna take care of each other.” 

Clarke could feel Lexa nod after a few seconds, then the Marine pulled her in for another long, slow kiss. The room around them seemed to disappear, as they melted into one another. 

Finally, Lexa pulled away and smiled sadly. “I have a feeling I’ll be taking care of you a lot more. Your aim is scattered, and your leg sweep is shit.”

Clarke stroked her cheek, laughing gently. “You don’t give me enough credit--you should see me with a sucking chest wound. These hands can work miracles.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Lexa teased, standing and pulling Clarke to her feet as well. “We should go--I’m afraid to find out what Lieutenant Indra has done to the local soldiers.”

Clarke continued grasping Lexa’s hand and held her back. “I meant what I said, Lexa. I’m looking out for you.” 

Lexa’s gaze was intense, and her tight smile expressed more than words ever could.


	7. Dance Dance Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke drags Lexa dancing, because that's obviously what people do when they're deployed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the number of chapters: 13! That's subject to change, of course, but now we have an end goal.
> 
> There are a few slurs in this chapter, fyi. Some people are jerks.

Clarke checked her watch again. 0920. She had recently been placed on an earlier flight schedule, and her body was still adjusting to waking up three hours earlier. Not only that, she had woken up even earlier to make sure she could make it to Air Force Finance before her show time. And even though she had arrived and checked in at their Kandahar office right at 0900 when it opened, she had yet to speak to anyone besides the receptionist.

Rising from her chair in the empty waiting room, Clarke again approached the Airman First Class at the front desk. “How much longer, do you think? My show time’s in 40 minutes.”

The A1C continued with whatever he was doing on the computer for several seconds before looking up at Clarke. “I’ll go have a look.” He took his coffee mug with him, as he left his desk and disappeared down the hallway containing the Finance offices.

Clarke decided to remain standing--it was harder to ignore someone who was hovering around the front desk, she thought. Out of boredom, she pulled out her cell phone from her flight suit pocket, only to remember that it was a basic phone, and the most sophisticated game it had was Tetris. Still, maybe she could find another way to pass the time… She pulled up texting and composed a message to Lexa.

**Clarke, 9:24am: Morning! How is your day looking? I have an exciting opportunity for you if you’re free tonight.**

Typing on a T9 keyboard reminded her just how much she missed having her iPhone. Every message took three times as long to write as it should have. She kept hoping that Lexa miraculously had the time to check her phone immediately, but after a minute without a reply, Clarke returned her cell to her pocket and checked her watch again. These Finance bastards were going to make her late for her flight. And for no apparent reason, because she was still the only person in the waiting room.

Hearing some muffled laughter behind one of the closed doors down the hallway, Clarke strained to hear more of what was going on. 

“This is the best part… boom, he shoots the arrow without even looking!”

“No way. Play that again! This movie looks kickass…. oh my God, we need to watch this. Do you think the Hajis are selling it at the BX?” 

“Probably. They got fucking everything. I got all seven seasons of Deep Space Nine for $20.”

“.... Star Trek? I don’t think you should be bragging about that.”

Clarke’s jaw was clenching. This is why she had been waiting for half an hour? So they could talk about movies and goddamn Star Trek? She had had enough.

She stormed around the front desk and down the hallway before knocking on the door far more forcefully than was strictly necessary to get their attention. Their conversation ended abruptly. A moment later, a tech sergeant who was nearly bursting the buttons on his ABUs opened the door just enough to see Clarke fuming in the hallway.

“You can’t be back here, ma’am--”

“I’ve been waiting here for 30 minutes,” Clarke spat, pushing the door open wider, “while you and your friend here bullshit about movies. I have a flight in less than an hour to save _wounded military personnel_ , so I think you can find time to squeeze me into your _busy schedule_.” Clarke glanced down at his name tape. “Tech Sergeant Wilkens.”

Wilkens gulped and exchanged a look with the wide-eyed staff sergeant sitting at the desk, who at least had the decency to turn back to his computer and pull up an Excel sheet that could ostensibly be work-related.

“Right this way,” TSgt Wilkens replied, exiting the staff sergeant’s office. By the time he entered his own office across the hall and settled in the chair behind the desk, he was breathing heavily. It appeared that walking between offices was the extent of his physical training these days.

“So, Sergeant Griffin,” TSgt Wilkens opened, taking a sip of coffee from a mug. It must have been cold, judging from the way he grimaced. “Just a second--Airman Sanders!”

The same Airman from reception showed up a minute later. Clarke was sure to glare at him long and hard as TSgt Wilkens handed the Airman his coffee mug. “Get me some more coffee, will you? This has gone cold.”

“Cream and sugar, sir?” A1C Sanders asked.

“Three creams. How long have you been getting me coffee? You should know this by now. Get out of here.”

A1C Sanders slunk out of the room, and TSgt Wilkens smiled vapidly at Clarke. “We like to call him Colonel Sanders when no one’s around, but we’re a little worried it’ll get to his head and he’ll start ordering us around!” He burst out laughing, but it quickly subsided when Clarke continued to sit there quietly. He cleared his throat. “So… where were we?”

“I was criticizing you for the long wait time, when there are no other customers in your office,” Clarke explained flatly.

“Ah, well… we were working on a backlog of forms. And Airman Sanders failed to tell us that anyone was waiting, so. I’m sure you understand. What can I help you with today?”

Clarke managed to suppress an eye roll, but just barely. “I’ve been deployed to Kandahar for two months, and I still haven’t received any imminent danger pay.”

“Oh! How odd.” He swiveled in his chair to the computer and began typing. “Let me look you up...what’s your social….”

Clarke gave him all of her details, and he kept frowning at his computer screen. “Well…. everything seems to be in order. You’ve been receiving $225 of IDP for May and June. Are you sure you haven’t been receiving it?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Clarke sighed, checking her watch again. “What are the account details? Where are you sending it?” 

“Let’s see,” he drawled. He wasn’t in nearly as big of a hurry as Clarke was, despite what she had told him about her flight. “Looks like we’re sending it to account number 5052--”

“I don’t know my account number. What’s the bank?” Clarke demanded.

“Hmmmm…. Wells Fargo, I think.”

“Shit.” Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been depositing money into my old bank account. Which I closed. Three years ago.”

TSgt Wilkens squinted at the screen for another minute, before lighting up. “Well, will you look at that! Your paycheck and flight pay are being deposited into another account. How funny!”

“Hilarious,” Clarke said, straight-faced. “When should I expect to be paid?”

Thinking hard, Wilkens finally answered “It’s a little short notice for next month, but definitely by the month after that. August.”

Clarke’s blood was actually boiling. It had to have been. “It’s mid-June. How could it possibly take that long?”

“Oh, you know how these things work,” Wilkens laughed. “The wheels of bureaucracy and all that.”

“Just fix it,” Clarke urged, getting up from the chair. “I have to go. I’m already late. 

She rushed out of the office and into the hallway, but she didn’t see A1C Sanders walking into the office with two piping hot cups of coffee until it was too late. The mugs flew out of his hands, and luckily he got most of the coffee on himself rather than Clarke. His shriek made everyone poke their heads out of their offices, and they all started laughing. 

The staff sergeant across the hall laughed the hardest. “What the hell, Colonel Sanders? Go back to making fried chicken!” 

But unlike his friend, TSgt Wilkens was not pleased. “Sanders! Did you break my fucking mug? You’re lucky I don’t demote you for this!”

Clarke escaped as quickly as she could back into the waiting area, which had filled up with other enlisted and officers since she had been back in the offices. But as far as she could tell, none of the Finance workers had taken back a single person the entire time. How they managed to get away with this here (and back home) was a mystery to her.

It was 0952. Shit, she’d have to run to make it to the squadron on time for her briefing. But the vibration in her pocket made her pause. She flipped open her phone and smiled despite everything when she saw that Lexa had replied to her message.

**Lexa, 0952: Taking the Afghans outside the wire. Nothing crazy. 1Lt Indra hasn’t murdered them yet, but today may be the day. Exciting opportunity? Explain.**

Clarke smirked. That was basically a yes.

**********

“So… there’s salsa dancing. In Afghanistan. Every week. How is this real?”

Lexa looked at Clarke skeptically at their meeting spot in front of the DFAC. She must have showered after getting back from her patrol, because the hair pulled back into her bun was still wet. And was that eyeliner? She looked far too good for someone who had just been driving around in a Humvee-turned-sweatbox for the past eight hours. But Clarke certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“You’ve been deployed four times, and you’ve never been salsa dancing?” Clarke asked, full of mock disbelief. “Tragic, Clexa. Good thing I’m here to show you how real warriors deploy.”

Lexa’s exaggerated sigh was enough to send Clarke into a fit of laughter. When she recovered sufficiently, they started their 20 minute walk toward the building that would become a temporary dance hall for the evening. The sun was setting behind them, and the air was finally starting to cool off. 

“But speaking of real warriors…” Clarke tugged her desert camo-pattern boonie cap tighter onto her head in a strong gust of wind. The wind never stopped around here. “How was your patrol with the Afghans today?”

“It went pretty well,” Lexa began. “There was one negligent discharge. Two failures to obey orders. And what we thought was an AWOL, but he was really just taking a 45 minute shit. And that was all one guy.”

They both saluted an officer who was walking towards them, before Clarke stared at her incredulously. “And this is a good day for you?!”

Lexa shrugged. “We didn’t get shot at or hit by an IED, so yes. It was a terrific day.”

“Fair enough,” Clarke conceded. She may have had to deal with injured patients, some of them with grotesque wounds that haunted her at night, but Clarke had never known what it felt like for someone to look her square in the face and try to kill her. And she hoped she would never have to. 

Two helicopters from the nearby runway lifted off the ground and flew directly over their heads, their thumping rotors deafening. Dusk was a busy time of day for the airfield, when many operations were winding up in preparation for when darkness fell. 

When the helicopters were nearly out of earshot, Lexa turned to the Airman. “Clarke, why am I doing this? Dancing, I mean.”

Clarke knew perfectly well what kind of answer Lexa wanted from her, but she decided to play with her for a while. “Well. You’re probably doing this to experience another culture,” Clarke offered, “to expand your understanding of the world we live in.”

“That may be on the list of reasons,” Lexa admitted, “but it’s very far down the list.”

“Well, how about this,” Clarke continued, trying not to smile. “It’s been at least a month since you’ve been able to shake what your momma gave you. And you’re always looking for new ways to exercise. This could also be an exciting introduction into a pole dancing career. Dancing is dancing, right?”

Lexa’s hand brushed Clarke’s as they walked. “If you’re telling me you know how to pole dance, and are willing to give me a demonstration…”

“Focus, Lexa,” Clarke chided. “Maybe the reason you’re here is because of all the hot men who go salsa dancing. You have a thing for gyrating man hips, or at least that’s what the rumors say about you.”

Lexa allowed herself an amused look at Clarke. “That must be it. And there are so many choices of… hunks around base. God, I can’t even say it. That’s definitely not the reason why I’m doing this.”

Clarke laughed beside her, as they passed by the BX and Green Bean and the usual gaggle of people there who tried their best to pretend that they weren’t deployed. “So have you never dated a guy? Or done it with a guy?” Clarke asked curiously. “You sound very opposed to the whole idea.”

Lexa thought for a moment. “I hung out with a male Marine at Twentynine Palms once. We saw a movie, Life of Pi--amazing, by the way. He tried to kiss me after we left the theater, and I shoved him into the side of a car. That set the alarm off, and the owner ended up being a sergeant major, who was walking up behind us at the time. My friend couldn’t get libo for a month, and even though the sergeant major didn’t even see me push him into the car, I couldn’t leave base either for two weeks, because I was ‘consorting with an idiot.’”

“Wait…” Clarke wondered, “was that your date story? You didn’t even know it was a date! That doesn’t count.”

Lexa shrugged and readjusted the rifle on her back. “Then I guess I’ve never been on a date with a guy. It was a terrible kiss, anyway. I don’t think I’m missing much.”

“They’re not all so bad,” Clarke said. “There’s even a few that I genuinely liked, before they turned out to be psychos… cheaters… and one had a weird foot fetish? But I wouldn’t let one bad experience turn you off on guys altogether. Some of them might even let you know that they’re taking you out on a date before trying to kiss you.”

Lexa looked at her seriously. “Clarke, I’m gay. Very gay. The gayest.”

“Really, Lexa?” Clarke teased, brushing her shoulder up against the Marine’s. “I don’t think I’ve seen enough evidence of that. Maybe if you try to show me again later tonight… And I promise, I won’t push you into a car when you try to kiss me. I’m not that kind of girl.”

But Lexa didn’t have a chance to respond, as Clarke turned towards an unassuming, single-story building that nonetheless emanated a low, driving beat that they felt in their chests. When she opened the door, the Latin music swelled in volume, and Clarke didn’t bother trying to conceal the grin that overtook her. It had been too long since her work schedule had allowed her to make it to salsa, and she had never imagined that she would be coming here with someone that she wanted to dance with as much as Lexa.

The Marine hesitated in the doorway, but Clarke reached back and took her hand, dragging her in. “You don’t get to back out now,” Clarke laughed. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

Clarke thought she heard Lexa mumbling under her breath: something involving the words “marksman” and “trained killer,” and Clarke swore she heard “dance like a wet noodle,” but she couldn’t be sure about that one.

The room was dark, with the exception of two lights turned on in the entryway. Several Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen in uniform were practicing basic salsa dancing steps, moving forward and backward together to the music. Most of the couples were a man and woman, although two of the groups were just women. Several men were sitting in chairs along the wall with their arms crossed, perhaps disgruntled that the women had chosen to dance with each other rather than with them. And of course they would rather sit out than dance with another man.

A middle-aged civilian wearing khakis and a polo shirt was walking up and down the line of dancers, throwing out a constant barrage of correction. “Keep your shoulders straight! Only move your hips! Stay on your toes! Ugh, good thing you’re all wearing combat boots, with how much you’re stepping on each other’s feet. Ah, welcome!” he yelled at Clarke and Lexa as they walked in. “Choose a man from the wall, or dance with each other, I don’t care. Love is love, or whatever the fuck. You can put your guns in the corner, just don’t leave them here at the end of the night. I swear to God, I could get rich on the black market with all of your forgotten weapons.” He became distracted by a guy staring at his own shoes while he danced. “Chin up, Soldier! No, they haven’t turned into two left feet, no matter the evidence to the contrary…”

Lexa took off her blouse and weapon and draped them on a chair in the back of the room near the stage, which was set up with a DJ table and surprisingly large speakers. Clarke, wearing a flight suit, just removed her shoulder holster and met Lexa back near the other dancers.

“Now’s your chance, Lexa,” Clarke yelled over the music into Lexa’s ear. “All of those men sitting along the wall are waiting for you to choose them. What’s your type, I wonder?”

Lexa took her hand as they settled on a spot at the side of the group. “Short.” She put her hand on Clarke’s waist, pulling her in towards herself. “Blonde.” Her other hand held Clarke’s off to the side, which brought their bodies flush together. Clarke’s breath hitched, as their bodies began swaying to the beat together. “Far too sassy for her own good,” Lexa murmured, her lips inches away. But an embarrassed smile spread across her face. “And hopefully about to lead, because I have no idea how to salsa.”

Clarke laughed, switching hand positions, so that one of her hands was on Lexa’s hip, and her left hand held Lexa’s right. She loved how this woman made her want to rip off her flight suit one moment, and made her smile the next. 

“OK, so you see how the others are stepping backward with their right foot? You’re gonna do that, but hopefully with less stumbling than that guy…”

Clarke proceeded to show Lexa the basic 8-count step for salsa, with the instructor coming by occasionally and correcting their movements. “You can keep your non-leading foot in place. Your upper body should be mostly stationary. That means don’t move it, Marine! You’re still moving it… Just. Nevermind. Airman, will you help her with that? She looks like she’ll need a lot of help.”

After the man had walked away to criticize someone else, Lexa leaned back in toward Clarke. “So what happens if I ‘accidentally’ throw down the dance instructor? Would that mean that I won’t ever be allowed back here? It’s an enticing option right now.”

“Oh come on, Lexa, he’s just trying to help you. How about we try a spin? I’m going to raise my arm, like this, and push you around...” 

Lexa turned in a lurching circle and struggled to keep up the basic steps during the spin. Clarke couldn’t hold back a laugh, seeing the Marine trying so hard and not quite making it. She may be an excellent shot with a rifle, a martial arts expert, and generally a badass, but Lexa seemed to have met her match with this, or at least that’s what Clarke was picking up from Lexa’s look of frustration.

“Hey, how about we go take a break?” Clarke suggested. “It’s too hot in here anyway.”

Lexa agreed (a little too quickly) and grabbed her blouse and their weapons, and they headed out the back door to a covered smoking pit a short walk away. Lexa lit up a cigarette and stood a little away from Clarke, trying not to blow smoke in her face. “Well that was embarrassing,” she huffed.

“For everyone else in there, sure,” Clarke joked, trying to make Lexa feel less self-conscious. “We were obviously the most attractive couple match there. I could feel the jealousy and loathing from the other dancers.”

Lexa took another drag on her cigarette. “At my high school prom, I stepped on my date’s toes so hard that I had to carry her off the dance floor and get ice from the punch bowl to stop the swelling.”

Clarke laughed for a solid minute before managing to get control of herself. “Oh my God, Lexa. Did she still go out with you after that?”

“Oh yes,” Lexa said. “She said something about my dance moves being ‘endearing but dangerous.’”

“I don’t think much has changed in that regard,” Clarke teased. “As long as the Taliban never learns that the best way to defeat you is in a dance competition, we’ll be alright.”

“But how are you so good at this, Clarke?” Lexa’s frustration was still running high, evidently. “Is dancing part of Air Force basic training? Not that I would be surprised if it were.”

“Very funny, Marine.” Clarke sidled closer to Lexa’s side after Lexa finished her cigarette. “Actually, this is kind of how I spent a lot of my free time during my last deployment. My friend Raven loves salsa dancing back in California too, so what can I say… I’ve picked up a few moves. She should be coming out here later, probably. She rarely misses an opportunity to flirt with men, then leave them high and dry.”

“Because that’s what we need on this base: more sexually frustrated men,” Lexa said dryly, pushing herself away from the railing of the smoke pit. “Come on, Clarke. I promised to dance with you tonight, and I keep my promises, no matter how humiliating.”

“Lexa,” Clarke called out, holding Lexa’s arm and turning her back around. “You know that I don’t give a rat’s ass how well you dance, right? I just really enjoy spending time with you… especially when we get to be close, and not just because we’re hiding in bunkers or closets or other confined spaces.” She took a step nearer. “I want to be close to you, Lexa. To touch you.” She craned her neck upwards, her eyes flickering between Lexa’s eyes and lips. “And I think you want the same from me.”

Lexa took a deep breath in, as she looked around them. “Yes, but… Maybe a smoke pit alongside a busy walkway isn’t the best place for these things, either.” 

“Then we better get back to dancing,” Clarke said, arching an eyebrow and drawing Lexa back toward the building. The salsa music had only gotten louder--meaning the instructing was over, and free dance had begun. Dozens more people had shown up, and the room was quickly turning into a sauna.

They hadn’t been inside for more than two seconds, before Raven bounded up to them and punched Clarke’s shoulder. “Hey, Griffin! Take a look at all the sweaty-ass men around here…. How is a girl supposed to choose? Oh--Sergeant Carey, what a pleasant surprise,” Raven said, winking at Clarke.

“Lexa, this is Raven, the salsa dancing extraordinaire I mentioned before,” Clarke introduced. 

“Oh, are we all on a first name basis now?” Raven hooked her thumbs in her shoulder holster and raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You guys must know each other very… intimately, then.”

“Shut it, Reyes,” Clarke said, trying to shoot Raven her best glare, but Raven’s laughter suggested that she hadn’t been very convincing. “Don’t you have some men’s hearts to break?”

Raven surveyed the room for a minute, but paused on a Marine entering through the front door. “On second thought…”

Lexa groaned discontentedly and turned away from the door, covering her eyes with her hand. “I can’t believe it…”

“Sergeant Carey, yo!” LCpl Blake sauntered over to the group. “You’re on a hot date, I see. Staff Sergeant Griffin, don’t let her bring you home before she buys you dinner first. A lady shouldn’t put out on an empty stomach.”

Raven looked the Marine up and down and crossed her arms. “And who the hell are you, Lance Corporal? No one mocks Griffin without my consent.”

A slow, somewhat devious smile spread across Blake’s face as she took stock of Raven. She held out her hand. “I’m Octavia. Making fun of NCOs is a favorite pastime of mine.”

Raven succeeded in looking at the Marine sternly for another second, before breaking down and shaking her hand. “I’m Raven. Making fun of NCOs is what they pay us for. Mock away, Octavia.”

Octavia grinned at her, lowering her hand. “Listen, I have an idea. See all those soldiers over there looking at us and drooling all over themselves? Why don’t we fucking ruin their day and dance with each other instead.”

“Can you keep up with these moves, Lance Corporal?” Raven challenged. “I’m Latina, and trust me, I’m not slowing down for anybody.”

“There’s no way an Airman is going to out-dance me. Lead the way, Raven,” Octavia said, pushing Raven towards the dance floor.

Clarke and Lexa exchanged amazed looks. They had been standing silently during the whole exchange, watching the two go back and forth. “I was not expecting that to happen,” Lexa said in shock. “Do you want to get back to--”

“Clarke! Clarke!”

“Oh no,” Clarke sighed. Neither of them was going to be spared tonight, it seemed.

TSgt Collins came and stood too close to her, glancing over at Lexa and seemingly dismissing her. “I knew you would be here. Would you like to dance? With me?”

“Sergeant Collins, I asked you to call me Sergeant Griffin, remember?” Clarke’s annoyance was obvious to everyone but Collins, it seemed. “Sergeant Carey, this is Tech Sergeant Collins. He works in life support.” 

Collins nodded once to Lexa before turning back to Clarke. “So how about that dance?”

“Actually,” Clarke began, taking a step closer to Lexa, “I have a dance partner for the night. But thanks. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else.”

Collins’ expectant smile slowly faded. “Right. Well. I’ll ask again later. I have to… go take care of something, anyway.” He turned from them without another word and disappeared into the crowd that was growing larger every minute. 

“What’s going on with that?” Lexa asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on,” Clarke said tiredly. “He just doesn’t realize it yet. We used to spend a lot of time together back on base in California. But he doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t want to date him. No matter how many times I say no.”

“Hm.” Lexa scanned the crowd. “Men like that can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous to me ever entertaining the idea of dating another man again, maybe,” Clarke said. “But he’s harmless, really.”

That didn’t stop Lexa from continuing to search for him in the room, but she refocused on Clarke after a few moments. “Before anyone else interrupts us… shall we dance?” Lexa held out her hand to Clarke, who laughed and took it, leading them out into the throng of dancers.

If it was possible, the music was even louder once they pushed their way somewhere into the middle of the crowd. The thumping bass line made it impossible for Clarke to keep her body still, and she was already rocking her hips back and forth before she got her hands in position to begin salsa dancing with Lexa. Most of the other couples around them were beginners, but there were a few dancers who had obviously been dancing salsa for most of their lives. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raven and Octavia dancing skillfully enough together that some people were pausing to watch them. Clarke loved how they all had this opportunity to lose themselves for a few hours. During that time, they could forget about casualties, missions gone awry, officers getting angry about all the wrong things. For this brief time, it was just about the music and the person dancing across from them. 

Clarke already had sweat running down her back, and she hoped that her palms weren’t disgustingly clammy as well. She was sure the AC was on full-blast, but no amount of air conditioning could combat the mass of bodies that surrounded them.

With the hand she had placed on Lexa’s hip, she started guiding Lexa’s body to the beat, but Lexa didn’t need much encouragement. They did the basic salsa steps for a few counts, before Clarke twisted them around to dance in the opposite direction. Lexa seemed to be doing better now, moving more gracefully, thinking less, and feeling the music more. It was hard not to, with so many people around them moving with the beat.

Someone had turned on a light machine on the stage, but it was still dark enough in the room to feel like an honest-to-goodness club back home. Clarke couldn’t be sure, but she swore a grin was starting to spread across Lexa’s face. Clarke spun the Marine around once and pulled her in close, before twirling her again, once, twice, three times. Lexa burst out laughing, and the look of pure joy on her face when Clarke tugged her inward nearly took her breath away. Lexa had a beautiful smile, even though current circumstances in her life didn’t allow her to show it very often. And to Clarke, this was everything: seeing that smile from this hardened warrior, this woman who had endured so much pain, just seeing her being carefree, having fun, and acting like someone in their lower 20’s… Clarke would give anything to make her smile, to make her know that she’s safe.

It took Clarke over a minute to realize that at some point they had stopped dancing forward and backward like the rest of the crowd was still doing. They were just rocking back and forth, Clarke’s hand still on Lexa’s waist, and her other holding the Marine’s hand. Lexa was no longer laughing, but her smile was still radiant, and she was looking at Clarke intently. She slowly moved her mouth to the Airman’s ear, close enough for Clarke to feel her breath. It sent a shudder through Clarke, which she was sure Lexa must have felt, with them holding each other.

“Clarke.” Lexa’s words were just audible over the music. “Thank you for this. For all of this. I think that now… now I can feel again.”

Lexa pulled back from Clarke’s ear slightly, but her face hovered over Clarke’s for a long moment, before she closed the small distance between them and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s lips.

Clarke breathed her in, savoring this bit of contact that she felt was constantly being denied them. Pulling Lexa closer with her hand on her hip, Clarke ran her other hand up the Marine’s back to her neck and encouraged the Marine for more. Clarke tapped her tongue tentatively on Lexa’s lips, until Lexa opened her mouth wider and allowed Clarke to explore it. Even so, they were still soft, meandering, as if they had all the time in the world, But gradually, Clarke felt Lexa tugging more insistently on her back, and Clarke could relate: their bodies needed to be closer, their kiss needed to be deeper, and all of this clothing was proving to be in the way. 

But when the song stopped, and the others in the dancing crowd whooped and hollered at the DJ, Clarke remembered where she was and pulled away slowly, but not before Lexa nipped her lips with her teeth and leaned in for another kiss.

“Lexa…” Clarke stammered, making more distance between them. “Maybe we should… um… not make out on the dance floor for a while.”

Lexa’s eyes were still planted firmly on Clarke’s lips, and she seemed to have no intention of removing her hands from the other woman’s lower back. “You were right, Clarke,” she said, beginning to sway as the next song began playing. “Salsa dancing is a lot of fun. I think I want to salsa with you more. But in private.” 

But someone began tapping on Lexa’s shoulder with a high degree of insistence. Lexa finally stood up straight and turned toward them, scowling. TSgt Collins was standing behind her, and he crossed his arms. “Do you mind if I cut in?” he yelled over the music.

“Yes. Yes I do mind,” Lexa replied, glaring and turning back to Clarke, but Collins grabbed her shoulder to make her face him once again. 

“I’ve been watching you guys dancing,” Collins warned, “and I think it’s time you left. She’s not into that.”

“Excuse me?” Clarke interjected, trying to put herself between Lexa and Collins. “The fuck do you know about what I want? I asked Sergeant Carey to be here. With me. It’s none of your business.”

“I think it is,” Collins argued. “As a ranking NCO in your organization, it’s my responsibility to make sure that you stay away from people like her.” He nodded over to Lexa, who was a brooding storm cloud behind Clarke. If he knew any better, he should have known not to make a Marine look at him in that way.

“‘People like her?’” Lexa repeated, coldly, stepping to Clarke’s side. “And what does that mean?”

“I mean,” Collins began, taking a step toward Lexa, until their faces were inches apart, “ground-pounding jarhead dykes who are trying to ruin our women.”

The muscles in Lexa’s jaw were flexing out of control, but she didn’t move otherwise. Clarke didn’t know the limits of the Marine’s patience, but it couldn’t be much more than this. At that moment, one of the dancers stumbled into Collins, knocking him forward into Lexa, and her response was lightning-fast. Before Clarke could even process what was happening, Lexa had landed a punch on Collins’ right cheek, grabbed his shoulder and then his arm with one hand, and forced him onto the floor, twisting his arm behind him mercilessly. Collins cried out in pain, which gathered the attention of the dancers around them, and they all moved aside to open up a clearing around them. 

“Lexa, stop!” Clarke pulled Lexa away from the tech sergeant, who was now sprawled out on the floor, coughing. 

The music came to an abrupt halt, and all of the lights turned on simultaneously, blinding everyone in the room. The people who hadn’t seen what had happened protested and demanded that the music be turned back on. 

“Marine! Are you starting fights?” The civilian dance instructor scowled at her from the stage. “Of course you are. Fuck. We can’t let fucking Marines anywhere.” He squeezed his way through the crowd toward them and faced Clarke. “I told you to fucking take care of her! Does letting her start a fight sound like fucking taking care of her?!” 

Lexa had gotten control of herself, but now she was turning exasperated. “Listen, I--”

“I don’t fucking care, Marine,” the man interrupted. “You need to leave. Right fucking now.”

Lexa shared a long look with Clarke, before turning into the shocked crowd and disappearing from sight. There had been no hint of apology in her eyes--just anger and bruised pride. 

Raven and Octavia were at Clarke’s side a moment later. “Is Lexa OK?” Raven asked. 

Clarke tried to see her in the crowd, but there were still too many people. “Yeah, I… I hope so.”

Octavia touched Clarke’s arm. “I got this, Staff Sergeant. I’ll make sure she doesn’t punch any more homophobic misogynists on the way home. That asshole had it coming,” she said loudly as she walked past Collins, who was still on the floor.

“Come on, Griffin.” Raven took Clarke’s arm, leading her away from Collins and toward the back of the room to get their weapons. “I think we’ve had enough salsa dancing for one day, don’t you think?”

Collins had the audacity to look at Clarke with pleading eyes as she walked away. She just shook her head. How could some people be such a disgusting mixture of hateful and moronic? And why did it have to be someone she had to work with on a daily basis?

She had never seen Lexa that angry before, and she didn’t want to ever again. An enraged Marine was a frightening thing. She missed the joyful grin that Lexa shown her while they were dancing.

As they walked out the door and into the comparatively cool evening air of Kandahar, Raven checked her watch. “The BX is still open for another few minutes. What do you say to some ice cream? My treat.”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Clarke replied, distracted. She felt her phone vibrate, and she took it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

**Lexa, 9:47pm: I’m sorry, Clarke. Not for hitting him. But for cutting short our time together.**

Clarke typed out a quick message, Raven seeming to understand and waited for her. 

**Clarke, 9:48pm: He deserved a lot worse. I guess guys like him are dangerous after all. I’ll see you soon.**


	8. Shots Fired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brits throw a party before they and the Marines head off into battle. Shenanigans ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tale continues! I wasn't convinced it was going to either. I hope you enjoy.

Clarke trudged along the flight line towards the aeromedical evacuation squadron. It may have only been 0930, but the sun was already shining hot enough on her skin to start sweat pouring down her back. She fondly remembered how it felt to not be constantly sweating back home California; it even got cold in SoCal once or twice a year. What she would give for that now, to feel cold enough to put a coat on (and not just in the C-130--that plane was a moving icebox). 

But the uncomfortable heat wasn’t what truly bothered her. The night before, she had just stood there in the dance hall, paralyzed, while Lexa had walked away after the confrontation with TSgt Finn Collins. Why hadn’t Clarke followed her? Why hadn’t she told Lexa that she didn’t blame her, that Collins had started all of it, and that she didn’t want this to change anything between them? Why had Clarke just stood there like an idiot, finally allowing Raven to escort her out of there?

Seeing that look on Lexa’s face, after Finn had insulted her… it had scared her. She didn’t know how the situation would escalate, and she didn’t want Security Forces to be called in, but more than that… Knowing Lexa was a warrior, a Marine, was one thing--but seeing her in action was quite another. Although Clarke had first-hand knowledge of how advanced Lexa’s hand-to-hand combat techniques were, seeing Lexa inflict violence upon another person, no matter how deserving in this case, was jarring for Clarke to see. It was hard to reconcile the funny, attractive person she had gotten to know over the past two weeks with the Lexa who went on patrols, could shoot someone from 100 yards away, and was literally capable of killing you with her bare hands. Clarke just hoped that she would be able to explain these thoughts adequately when the time came. She didn’t want to lose Lexa right when they were becoming closer.

Entering the squadron’s compound through a gate in the barbed wire-topped fence, Clarke heard fits of raucous laughter coming from the command tent. Scrunching her brow, she approached the tent, dropping off her cell phone in the box outside, and stepped inside. 

Nearly everyone in the squadron was standing around the ops desk, where 1Lt Bellamy was standing and turning down the volume on the radio slightly. 

“Here’s the chorus again,” he warned. “He doesn’t do too well on those high notes.”

A1C Jaha turned towards the sound of the tent door closing behind Clarke, and he grinned at her evilly. “You’re just in time, Sergeant Griffin.”

Over the crackle of the radio, a man’s voice strained to sing notes that were at least an octave above his comfortable range. “Neeeeeeear….. faaaaaaar…. wherEEEEEEVER you are….”

Clarke covered her mouth in shock, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a huge cackle. It sounded like…. Jasper. Singing Celine Dion?

“I belieeeeeve that the heaaaaaaart dooooooes go onnnnnnn…” And then, in a frustrated whine, “Damn it, Monty, you’re gonna get us booed off stage if you don’t hit those power chords!”

“This song is remarkably complicated for a ballad, OK?!” Monty’s voice came through the radio, fainter than Jasper’s.

Jasper cleared his voice. “And you’re heeeeeere in my heaaaart, and my heaaaaart will go onnnnn and onnnnnnn.” His voice had cracked, but only slightly. It wasn’t the worst performance of Celine Dion that Clarke had ever heard, but that probably reflected poorly on those karaoke singers in her past rather than reflecting well on Jasper.

Howls of laughter filled the tent, and even stoic Maj Kane was wiping a tear from his eye. But the squadron commander, LtCol Thelonious, stormed down the hallway a moment later. “What exactly is going on down here? Don’t you all have work to do?”

1Lt Bellamy turned the radio volume all the way down, cutting off the next moving (and ear-piercing) verse of the song. “Yes, sir! I was about to brief the crew on changes in today’s weather conditions.”

“I’m sure you were, Lieutenant,” LtCol Thelonious said skeptically. “Back to work, everyone. And Griffin…”

Clarke was shocked to hear the lieutenant colonel address her. “Yes, sir?”

“Have someone tell that singing fool to quit. That comm channel is monitored by people in the Wing, and I won’t have them thinking we’re out here not taking this mission seriously. And when you’re done, come to my office.” LtCol Thelonious was already stepping back into his office, where someone was sitting in front of his desk.

“Yes, sir!” Clarke replied, shooting a worried look at Jaha. Even as an NCO, getting called into the commander’s office was rarely a good thing. And she definitely knew what this was about. “Do you mind letting Sergeant Jasper know to stop sitting on the radio call button, or however he’s managing to transmit Celine to the whole squadron?”

“Of course, Sergeant Griffin,” Jaha agreed easily. “But do you know why the commander wants to see you? I thought I saw Sergeant Collins walk in there earlier.”

Clarke sighed, glancing over at the office. “Yeah, I know why. If I’m not back in half an hour, tell my family I love them.” 

“Oh please,” Jaha scoffed, “it can’t be that bad! You’re a model citizen around here. He’s probably letting you know he’s submitted you for an award.”

“Always the optimist, Jaha,” Clarke smiled. “We’re lucky to have you around here. But seriously, go stop Jasper before he starts the Whitney Houston. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Sergeant Griffin,” Jaha said reluctantly, walking out of the tend. “See you in in the briefing later. You know, maybe I’ll suggest some Michael Jackson…”

Clarke pointed at him with mocking command. “That’s torture, Jaha, which is against the Geneva Conventions.” 

Jaha laughed as he shut the tent door behind him. He was a good kid.

Clarke gathered her thoughts for a moment, before walking toward LtCol Thelonious’ office. This was no doubt about what had happened between Lexa and Finn at salsa last night. Finn had definitely told the commander about Lexa punching him, but what else had he said? If he mentioned that Clarke and Lexa were also kissing on the dance floor, that could be problematic. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell may have been repealed the year before, but physical contact of that nature between anyone was prohibited. And besides, homophobia ran deep in the military; they may not be able to discharge her for kissing a woman, but they could still pile a stack of microaggressions against her.

Just before she arrived at the doorway, Finn came stepping out of the office, bowing his head. He looked bad: swollen lower lip, bruised cheek. Lexa really hadn’t taken it easy on him. He stared at Clarke as she moved into the doorway, but he said nothing and retreated into the back of the tent.

Clarke knocked once, and LtCol Thelonious looked up from his computer and waved her in. A display case with various medals and awards hung behind his desk, but the most prominent item in the office was a large wooden cross hung onto the wall. Moving in front of his desk, she stood at attention. “You wanted to see me, Colonel Thelonious?” 

LtCol Thelonious, wearing ABUs, leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands on top of his neat, uncluttered desk. “I just had a long conversation with Sergeant Collins about how he got that cut lip of his. But I want to hear your side of the story.” 

“Yes sir,” Clarke said, still standing at attention. It seemed that LtCol Thelonious had no intention of letting her stand at ease any time soon. “At the salsa dancing lesson last night--” LtCol Thelonious raised an eyebrow at that, but remained silent--”Sergeant Collins verbally assaulted the person I was dancing with. She didn’t do or say anything back, but Sergeant Collins was pushed toward her by one of the dancers. The woman thought he was lunging at her, and she punched him.”

“Who is she? This woman?” the colonel asked, eyes narrowing.

Clarke knew that she should tread carefully. “A Marine, sir. I was dancing with her when Sergeant Collins approached us and started saying… terrible things.”

“Why were you dancing with her, when there were plenty of men there, to include Sergeant Collins? Why dance with a woman when you can dance with a man?”

Clarke took a deep breath before answering. If these were honestly his views, she didn’t think that she had much hope in convincing him that Finn had done anything wrong. “I danced with her because I wanted to, sir. She… desperately needed some help with salsa dancing, and I was trying my best to teach her.”

Frowning, LtCol Thelonious continued staring at her. Clarke found it unnerving, which she was sure he was aware of. “And what of Sergeant Collins telling me that he saw this Marine forcing herself on you while you were dancing?”

Clarke’s mind raced. “Sir?”

“He said that he saw this Marine kissing you, and that he rushed over as quickly as he could to stop it.”

Clarke stood in silence, not knowing how to respond. If she said that yes, the Marine had forced herself onto her, then they might try to find Lexa and NJP (non-judicial punish) her. If she said no, that would mean the kiss was consensual, which could mean more trouble for the both of them. “Sir, I don’t know what Sergeant Collins thinks that he saw, but there was no kiss. The room was so dark, and there were so many people there, it was impossible to see anyone clearly. Maybe he confused us with other people, or maybe… he saw what he wanted to see.”

Her attempt at humor didn’t seem to impress the colonel, who sat back in his chair. “So you’re telling me, Staff Sergeant, that Tech Sergeant Collins lied to me about seeing you kissing and that he deserved to be hit by the Marine for, how did you put it, ‘verbally assaulting’ her.”

“He thought he saw us, sir, but he didn’t,” Clarke lied. She hated the idea of lying to her commander, but in this case, she didn’t have any other choice. “And the Marine thought that she was defending herself. It turned out that he wasn’t trying to punch her, but like I said, sir, it was dark, and none of us could see clearly.”

LtCol Thelonious landed a heavy stare on her, seemingly weighing her words. Finally, he relaxed in his chair. “At ease, Sergeant.”

Clarke went to parade rest, placing her hands on the small of her back and moving her feet apart. 

“I’m a busy man, Griffin,” LtCol Thelonious began. “We average three flights per day. We had six in one day a few months ago, when we transported over 100 people to the hospital here. I coordinate with the Wing, with the hospital, with all of the various units that we assist at FOBs and posts around Afghanistan. Do you think I have time for situations like this between you and Sergeant Collins?”

“No, sir,” Clarke replied.

“Exactly. For now, whatever you did or didn’t do with that Marine is between you and God. Sergeant Collins doesn’t want to punish the Marine for hitting him. And frankly, I’m done thinking about this. You’re good at your job, Griffin. We’re lucky to have you on our team. But if you cause any more trouble like this in the future, I’ll pull you from flight status. And stay away from that Marine--anyone who punches one of my own isn’t someone you should be spending time with.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Get back to work, Sergeant.”

And with that, Clarke went to attention, about-faced, and exited the office. Once out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously, not seeing Lexa again wasn’t an option. But at least they weren’t pursuing punishment (probably just because that would involve Finn telling the Marine Corps that he was punched by a woman and didn’t fight back). But still, this was as good of an outcome as she could have hoped for after last night. Finn would be as difficult to deal with as ever, but she could handle that. Unfortunately, Clarke would have to be more careful around Lexa. No more making out in public places, that was for sure. But in private… 

Raven burst in the front door of the tent, holding a handheld radio high above her head. Jasper wasn’t far behind her, grabbing at it. 

“Griffin!” Raven greeted, wiggling the radio further out of reach from Jasper. “Did you hear that atrocity known as Jasper singing? I was keying the mic the whole time--you’re welcome!”

“Not cool, Reyes,” Jasper pouted, finally managing to reach around Raven and grab the radio from her hand. “You know Celine was only for you and Monty. I don’t sing that for just anyone.”

Raven crossed her arms, looking smug despite losing the radio. “But you did. You sang for everyone. My only regret is not recording it as well. The look on your face when Jaha came in, seriously…”

Clarke patted Jasper’s arm on her way out of the tent. “You should stick with being a loadmaster. A career in music may not be for you.” 

Jasper held the radio against his head in embarrassment. “My life is actually over.”

**********

Clarke stood in the shade of the dining facility, far enough off to the side of the door, so she wouldn’t have to salute every officer who was going in for dinner. It was already past 1900, so the worst of the dinner rush was over. But still, with everyone’s various work schedules in the camp, the line wouldn’t die down completely until almost 2100. Just standing there, after a long flight earlier that day that had taken her nearly to the Iran border, Clarke was starting to get drowsy. She watched an Osprey taking off to entertain herself… and to try to forget about a soldier’s huge chest wound she had treated a few hours before on her flight. She didn’t know if he would last the night at the Kandahar hospital, despite her and LtCol Abbey’s nearly constant attention during the flight. 

“Clarke. You arrived before me, for once.”

Clarke turned back to the DFAC entrance and watched as Lexa approached her. Lexa looked as radiant as ever (despite a few mud patches on her uniform), but Clarke suddenly felt the need to see her in civilian clothes. Normal life. She imagined how things could be between them if they weren’t deployed, if they weren’t at war and worrying about surviving rocket attacks, and going outside the wire, and treating potentially fatal chest wounds. What if they were just two normal people meeting for dinner, rather than a Marine and an Airman grasping for a few final days together before one of them had to leave? 

“Are you alright, Clarke?” Lexa asked with concern, standing with her in the shade and lightly grasping the Airman’s arm.

“Yeah, Lexa… Listen, I wanted to talk with you about last night and what happened with Collins--”

“Definitely, I do too,” Lexa assured, still holding Clarke’s arm. “But only after I’ve devoured an entire plate of chicken strips. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Clarke’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, you’re right. It’s Sunday--we have to hurry before they run out of chicken strips completely!”

“So you’re OK just to talk in there?” Lexa asked, concern still etched across her face.

But Clarke was already dragging her by the hand toward the DFAC entrance, before remembering where they were and dropping it. She already wasn’t “staying away” from Lexa like her commander had told her, and now she was holding her hand in public? This may be more difficult than she thought.

A few minutes later, their trays piled high with food, Clarke and Lexa made their way to the end of one of the tables. With the Fourth of July approaching, the DFAC’s (dining facility’s) decorations were flamboyantly patriotic: stars and stripes banners; red, white, and blue table cloths; a poster of a fireworks display; and even a human-sized replica of the Statue of Liberty. 

“They really ought to hire a new interior decorator,” Clarke said, placing her tray on the table and sitting down. “This one doesn’t understand the power of subtlety.”

Lexa sat opposite her and immediately began shoving chicken strips into her mouth. As it turned out, they had arrived just in time to get the last tray of them. “My last deployment here was during Thanksgiving. There was a Mayflower in here, an actual replica of the ship, that we had to walk by to get to the tables. And there were people dressed up in Wild West costumes… which, that doesn’t even make sense.”

Clarke laughed across the table, opening up a container of BBQ sauce. “I guess the chow hall managers get just as bored as we do here. Better dressing up as cowboys than selling opium.”

“They’re probably doing that too,” Lexa surmised, starting on her salad (that was only iceberg lettuce and tomatoes due to the poor vegetable selection that day). “But I wanted to get back to what happened last night.” 

Clark nodded. “Right. You have quite the reputation at my squadron now, to say the least.”

“Is he OK?” Lexa asked. “Tech Sergeant Collins, I mean.”

“Bruises and a broken lip,” Clarke admitted. “I wish I could say that you knocked some sense into him, but I’m sure he’s just as much of an idiot as ever. And of course, my commander told me that I need to stop seeing you.”

“Are we ‘seeing’ each other, Clarke?” the Marine smiled at her, earning a kick under the table from Clarke.

“Seriously, though, we should probably be more careful. And try not to punch anyone else.”

“We can be more careful, but I will continue to punch anyone who thinks that being gay is something repulsive, or a thing to be ashamed of. There’s no point in holding back with people like that.”

“But I think we should choose our battles better,” Clarke argued. “If Collins knew your name and decided to prosecute you--”

“But he didn’t,” Lexa interrupted, putting her fork down. “Clarke, I didn’t want to hit him--I just saw him coming toward me, after everything he had said, and I reacted. I don’t start fights. I don’t brawl. But I do defend myself and those I--care about.”

The corners of Clarke’s lips upturned slightly. Lexa cared about her, did she? “For the record, I don’t need defending, but I appreciate the sentiment. But, I have to admit, Lexa… seeing you go into attack mode like that… I’ve seen you shoot weapons, and tackle me mercilessly to the floor, but this was different. I didn’t know how to react.”

“I’m a Marine, Clarke,” Lexa said, confused. “Attacking people is my job.”

“I know, it’s just…” Clarke ran a hand over her hair. “Part of me wants to forget that you’re a fighter, that this is who you are, and that you’re leaving in four days to go somewhere even more dangerous than here.”

Lexa rested her arms on the table. “I wish I could forget too, sometimes. But this is who I am. This is what I’m good at. I shoot who they tell me to shoot, and I try not to think about the families and friends that they have, or what must have happened in their lives to force them into joining the Taliban. In the end, we are what we are, and we do what we must to survive.”

Clarke fought the urge to take Lexa’s hand across the table and instead just brushed her fingers up against hers. “Maybe life should be about more than just surviving.”

Lexa stared hard at Clarke. “It will be, for the next four days.”

“And then?” Clarke had to know.

“I’ll kill anyone who gets in the way of me or my teammates surviving.”

Clarke looked at her sadly. “Don’t we deserve better than that?”

“Maybe we do. After this deployment is over, anything is possible.” Lexa pushed her chair back and got up. “Want some ice cream?

Clearly, Lexa was done talking about this. “Yeah sure. The usual,” Clarke replied.

Lexa left the table without saying another word, her back straight and walking with perfect confidence. She was a Marine, through and through. And while Clarke could barely imagine having to kill someone in order to survive, she understood that this was a reality of life for Lexa. Warrior and medic. They were on opposite sides of the spectrum. 

A few minutes later, Lexa sat down again and slid a bowl of chocolate ice cream over to Clarke. “I didn’t even have to make him any promises for that.”

“Miracles do exist,” Clarke said, taking a huge bite and being grateful once again for still having this, even in Afghanistan. “Does your leadership know about what happened at salsa night?”

 

Lexa shook her head once, swirling her ice cream together. “Lieutenant Indra hasn’t heard about it, and she won’t, as long as Blake can keep her mouth shut. I’m not convinced she will stay quiet, but it doesn’t really matter--no one will believe her.”

“Why’s that?” Clarke asked curiously.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead salsa dancing, obviously,” Lexa said with a small smirk.

“Well, they don’t know you as well as I do, then.” Clarke leaned towards her. She was emboldened by Lexa’s confession of caring about her. “You really seemed to be enjoying it, at the end. Before Collins interrupted.”

Lexa gave her a steady look. “If I had known that salsa dancing was simply a precursor to making out on the dance floor, I would have tried it long ago. But yes, I enjoyed it. And I would like to repeat it. But we could skip the dancing this time.”

Clarke laughed to herself, looking around and making sure that no one was sitting close enough to have heard that. “You know, Lexa, the DFAC decorator isn’t the only one who doesn’t understand subtlety.”

The Marine folded her arms. “Four days left, Clarke, remember? Subtlety isn’t on my list of priorities.”

“You have a point,” Clarke conceded, her smile faltering. Maybe she should forget about subtlety, too, with a timeline like that.

Across from her, Lexa cleared her throat. “So Clarke, there’s this… thing happening tomorrow night. But I know you just said you’re supposed to be avoiding me, so maybe you won’t want to go.”

“A ‘thing’, Lexa?” she asked, amused. “That is literally the most vague you could be about it.”

“So you’re not going to avoid me?” Lexa asked, fighting a smile.

Clarke cocked an eyebrow. “As if I could.” She was pleased to see that Lexa lost her battle against the smile, as it spread beautifully across her face. “So what is this ‘thing’? The suspense is killing me.”

Lexa had already finished off her ice cream and set the bowl aside. “We’re shipping out with a British infantry unit that we worked with last time I was in Kandahar. Before they head out, they like to… celebrate. My squad was invited to their ‘farewell ceremony’, and I thought you might like to go.”

“Is ‘farewell ceremony’ code for…”

“Ridiculous amounts of food and booze, yes,” Lexa replied. “And judging by how much you liked that homebrew from your squadron, I figured you might be interested in having a real beer for a change.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Sergeant Carey, are you trying to get me drunk? Because I approve.”

“Definitely, Staff Sergeant Griffin,” Lexa nodded. “Although I am simply the provider, and any choices you make are up to you. But it will be safe: it’s on the British compound, so no one in your squadron will know about it. You should go.”

Clarke tried to hide her excitement, but failed. “I’ll think about it.”

**********

 **Clarke, 2237:** Can I bring a plus one? Raven would love this.

 **Lexa, 2238:** Only if she and Blake make out already.

 **Clarke, 2241:** A very real possibility. So yes?

 **Lexa, 2242:** Yes. 

**********

Raven hooked her thumbs into her shoulder holster, as she and Clarke approached the gate to the British compound. They had just finished their flight for the day (only 8 injured Marines this time), showered, and hurried over to the compound. A bored-looking guard sat in the shade, flipping through a magazine, a rifle resting on his knees. He looked up at them passively, before sitting up and flipping the magazine closed, evidently interested in what he saw.

“Hello ladies,” he said with a British accent, looking their flight suits up and down. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“We’re here for the… farewell ceremony,” Clarke replied, remembering the term Lexa had used the day before.

“Of course. Do you know the password?”

Raven answered quickly, “Up yours.”

The guard just stared at her, then burst out laughing. “That’s definitely not it, but I like your style. Go ahead, and have a beer for me.”

“How’d you end up pulling guard duty during the party?” Raven asked him as they passed. 

He already had the magazine open again. “Fucking too many women on base. The other guys were getting jealous.”

Raven laughed at him as she and Clarke walked past him into the compound. “You’re full of shit. Try not to have too much fun out here.”

It was a large compound, with buildings on either side of the main walkway, but it wasn’t difficult to find where the party was happening. The rec center was a two-story building with three large grills out front. At the moment, they were all fired up, and the smell of grilled meat filled the air. There were dozens of Royal Marines eating, laughing, playing frisbee, and most importantly, drinking. 

LCpl Blake ran up to them almost as soon as they had arrived. “Raven! It’s about time you showed up. Hurry up, we’re trying to get a game of beer pong going. Can you believe that most of these guys haven’t played before?”

“It’s like you’re speaking directly to my soul, O,” Raven laughed, motioning in front of herself. “After you.”

Clarke was left standing in front of the rec center, as the two of them walked off to a table set up further back in the field. As an afterthought, Blake yelled back at Clarke over her shoulder. “Sergeant Carey’s inside.”

Right. Clarke stopped at one of the coolers on her way inside and grabbed a beer. It was full of cans of Bud Light and Keystone Light, but Clarke wasn’t picky. She opened one and took a large swig of it as she stepped inside the building. 

Union Jacks, Royal Marine flags, and replicas of assault rifles and swords hung on every wall surface. It was packed with Royal Marines wearing their desert camouflage uniforms, sleeves rolled up past their elbows. All of them were men, which may have explained why they had allowed Clarke and Raven to attend as well, despite being unaffiliated.

People were sitting playing cards, standing around talking, or eating brats and burgers from the grill. Empty cans of beer were already starting to accumulate around the room, but it seemed that they were well-stocked and shouldn’t be running out any time soon. Finally, Clarke saw Lexa playing foosball, her back to the door.

“Anya--he’s going for the corner shot. Block him! Block him!” Lexa yelled, completely focused on the game. 

Anya, standing beside her at the foosball table, must have blocked the Royal Marine’s shot, because they both whooped and continued playing with vicious twists of the rods. Not knowing how much more of the game there was, Clarke approached Lexa from behind, lightly touching her back and putting her mouth close to her ear. “Are you as good at foosball as you are at--”

Lexa made a shot from one of the defenders, which set off the two British men groaning and Anya cheering. Lexa turned back to Clarke smugly. “As I am at what?”

Clarke couldn’t help the smile that overtook her. “Knitting. I wanted to know if you’re as good at knitting.”

“And by knitting you mean…”

“Other things you can do with your hands?” Clarke said innocently.

Lexa rolled her eyes at her, turning back to the foosball table. “How about I show you how good I am at foosball, and you can let me know later how I am at ‘knitting.’”

“You and your promises,” Clarke said, standing close beside her, looking at the foosball table and finishing her beer.

Lexa leveled a serious look at her. “I always keep my promises.”

“I hope you do.”

Anya, on the other side of Lexa, cleared her throat. “Unless you want to be hit by a flying foosball, Griffin, you should probably take a step back.”

“That happened three times. Four, tops!” one of the British men across from them protested.

“You really ought to keep your balls out of people’s faces, Osias,” Anya said, dropping the ball into the chute on the side of the table to start a new round. “And while you’re at it, away from the rest of their bodies, too.

“Careful, Gunny,” Lexa warned beside her, shooting again but getting intercepted by the other team, “we have to spend the next six months with these guys. Maybe you should reserve the penis jokes for later. This is going to be a long deployment”

“Don’t worry, Carey,” Anya said between foosball shots, “I’ve got loads of jokes about their manhoods. Mostly about how small they are.”

The Royal Marine playing across from them--Osias--gave out a low whistle. “If you wanted to see my ‘manhood’ and be proven wrong, Gunny, all you had to do was ask.”

Anya made some particularly forceful shots, which were blocked by the other Royal Marine player. “If our last deployment with you was any indication, you’ll be ‘accidentally’ whipping them out right next to us on patrol when you decide to take a piss. Even though there’s a whole desert you could go in.”

“Can’t be breaking formation on patrol, now can we? Booooom!” Osias spun the rod sharply and managed to get the ball past Lexa’s players into the net. “Victory once again. I’m starting to think you guys haven’t been keeping up with your foosball back in America.”

“Unlike in Britain,” Anya began, finishing off her beer and walking off to the bar with Osias and the other Royal Marine, “we have better things to do than waste our time on foosball. Didn’t I tell you about the ranch I just bought in Cali? I have three horses. Three. Fucking. Horses. Tell me that doesn’t beat playing foosball any day...”

That left Lexa and Clarke next to the foosball table, Lexa standing straight and Clarke leaning against the table. The music may not have been the best (Kesha was playing at the moment), but Clarke felt relaxed--the most relaxed she had since coming to Afghanistan. Holding a beer in her hand, smiling up at this woman who managed to look stunning even in camis, and being at a party that could have been any number of which she had attended back at UC Irvine, minus the firearms and uniforms, made her feel at ease. Or maybe that was the beer. She broke the silence as they stared at each other. “Hey, Lexa,” she grinned, fully realizing that tonight was their best opportunity yet to be two normal people, getting to know and falling for each other. 

“Clarke,” Lexa said, smiling serenely at her. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“And miss my opportunity to get you drunk?” Clarke leaned closer. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lexa snorted a laugh. “Is that what you think is going to happen? The Airman is going to outdrink the Marine? I don’t want to shatter your dreams, but…”

“This conversation would be better with drinks in our hands. Let’s go.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Lexa said seriously, as she followed Clarke to the bar.

**********

“So yeah, you could say my mom is a control freak. That’s the nice way of saying it, actually.” Clarke frowned suddenly. She was sitting on the couch with Lexa, her back to the armrest and her legs drooped over the Marine’s. “Wait, is this an over-share? I don’t want to scare you off with stories about how fucked up my family is.”

Lexa’s hand ran absent-mindedly up and down Clarke’s leg as she laughed. “I know it’s not a competition, but I’m pretty sure my family can out fuck-up your family. If that’s any consolation.”

Clarke looked at her solemnly. “I don’t think it is. Why? What happened? Do I have to go beat up your mom or brother or sister or somebody? I will, you know. You taught me how. Sort of.”

“Please don’t try to leg sweep my parents,” Lexa said, shaking Clarke’s legs on her lap. “They already have enough problems of their own. But I still look forward to seeing them… six months from now.”

It had been a full evening of drinking, eating, and games. They had played beer pong with Blake and Raven and won two times out of three, but it had still meant drinking a lot of beer. Lexa (unsurprisingly) had a strong throwing arm, but Clarke had more finesse and landed more shots. Blake and Raven had put up a good fight, but in the end they became more concerned with focusing on which of the British guys were hottest. 

In a particularly lucid moment, Raven had waved at them all dismissively. “But what’s the point of them being pretty, if we don’t need them for free drinks and can’t fuck ‘em? They might as well be deployment zeroes.”

“You in the business of rating how hot people are when you’re deployed?” Octavia asked casually. “What’s that guy over there? The blondie.”

“A six. Decent for deployment”

“That guy? Mustache man.”

“God no. Two.”

“And me?” Octavia said with a sideways glance.

As intoxicated as Raven was, she still had the presence of mind to not divulge, at least not right away. “If you make this next shot and win the game, I’ll tell you.”

Without a word, Octavia picked up the ball and lobbed it to the other side of the beer pong table. It landed solidly in the last cup on Clarke and Lexa’s side. 

“Booya bitch, nailed it!” Octavia yelled across the table, high-fiving Raven. She cast an apologetic look to Lexa. “I mean booya, Sergeant. Booya, Sergeant Bitch? Whatever, we won. Raven, don’t you have something to tell me?” 

“Not here, you fool.” It was pretty dark outside where they were playing, but Clarke swore that Raven’s cheeks were slightly red. Raven started dragging Octavia away from the beer pong table. “I think more of a ‘show and tell’ would be appropriate for this.”

So Clarke hadn’t seen Raven or Octavia for the rest of the party, except when she heard a guy screaming “body shots!” and saw Octavia lick salt off of Raven’s neck, take a shot, and kiss Raven to get the lemon from her mouth. Military professionalism at its finest, she thought. And also not a bad idea.

**********

Clarke was beginning to have trouble remembering where she was. All she could focus on was what was happening directly around her: a couple of Royal Marines standing to the side, laughing with cans of beer in their hands; a dart board, with the wall around it riddled with holes from people a little too drunk to be coordinated (but she wouldn’t know anything about that); and Lexa, finishing her three dart throws and looking back over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. That grin almost made Clarke drop her beer. 

“Sorry, kiddo,” one of the Royal Marines said, patting Clarke on the back. “Looks like Carey smoked you in the end.”

So that’s what that look was about. It took Clarke entirely too long to add up the points from Lexa’s darts, but in the end, she realized that he was right: what had begun as a close game ended up with Lexa winning by 20 points with the last throw.

“Lexa!” Clarke called after her, meeting her at the dartboard as Lexa removed her darts. “Either you’re a darts shark, or you got really fucking lucky.”

Lexa took the darts and handed them off to one of the Royal Marines, still looking smug over her victory. “Was it luck, or am I just much less drunk than you?”

“How is that possible? You’ve been drinking more than me. Come on,” Clarke urged, taking the Marine’s hand and leading her away. “We need to fix that. Like right now.”

Lexa protested half-heartedly, dragging her feet. Clarke brought them by the bar and swiped a half-full bottle of tequila off of the counter, tucking it into her side. As an afterthought, she snatched a couple lemon slices and shot glasses as well and managed to carry it all while still holding Lexa’s hand. With the party beginning to die down, the path to the door leading outside was clear. 

The air outside of the rec building was remarkably refreshing, even though it was still dusty and over 90 degrees. Clarke hesitated, not knowing where anything in the yard outside the rec building was, but she found a wooden bench and led them over to it. She pulled Lexa onto the bench next to her.

Being outside of the loud rec building, now in the relatively quiet evening, where the only sound was the muted music from inside and a C-130 nearby doing its engine run-ups, put Clarke at ease. She relaxed on the bench and gazed up at the sky. “I miss seeing the stars. And not just the few that we can see here, with the buildings and airfield being so close. I miss seeing the entire sky, blank as a canvas, sprinkled with hundreds and thousands of tiny, shimmering lights.”

Lexa was silent for a minute as she gazed upward as well. “We may not see them all. But the ones we do see, are the same stars that our loved ones see back home. I know that when my parents look up and see Orion’s Belt or the Big Dipper, that I can see them too. And that gives me hope.”

“Hope for what?” Clarke asked, looking from the sky down to Lexa’s face, unclear in the darkness.

“Hope that I’ll see them again. Hope that I won’t change so much out here that they won’t recognize me when I go home.” Lexa’s voice lowered. “Hope that I haven’t changed too much already.”

Clarke put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “If they love you, they know that you’re only doing what you have to out here. None of it’s your fault. But no one can shoot at another person and be shot at and not change, right? Having people trying to fucking kill you all the time kinda messes with your outlook on life.”

Lexa gave her her small smile. “You make a lot of sense when you’re drunk, Clarke. Despite the slurring.”

“I am not--” Clarke began, offended. “Well maybe just a little. Speaking of, I didn’t bring this tequila out here just to look pretty.”

“You don’t think we’ve already had enough?” 

“No.” Clarke poured two shots of tequila, spilling a little onto the bench. “We also aren’t just drinking. We’re having an experience.”

“An experience, really?” Lexa asked curiously, playing along. “What kind of experience will this be? I’m afraid I’ve already been drunk before in my life, Clarke.”

“No, silly.” Clarke handed her the shot, as well as one of the lemon slices. “You’re going to to take the shot and then eat the lemon out of my mouth. And I’m going to do the same to you.”

“Is this the deployment version of body shots, Clarke?”

“Yeah? Why not? But I forgot the salt. And it’s hard to pour tequila into your belly button when you’re in uniform, so we’ll skip that part.

Lexa looked at her critically. “I haven’t tried. But why bother with this, when we could just take the shots and kiss afterwards?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Clarke scoffed. “Listen, I’m super good at this. I’ve done this lots of times at frat parties. I’ll show you.”

“‘Lots of times’? ‘Frat parties’? That was a loaded sentence.”

“Shut up. I’m a college girl, what do you expect.” Clarke took the lemon wedge from Lexa’s hand and held it in front of her mouth. “Put this in your mouth, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Lexa did as ordered, but positioned the lemon rind toward the front of her mouth. Looking the Marine in the eyes, Clarke took her tequila shot and leaned in quickly toward Lexa. The kiss she planted on Lexa’s lips was sloppy and tasted strongly of tequila. She flicked her tongue into Lexa’s mouth to get the lemon wedge, but laughed when she realized that Lexa had it facing backwards in her mouth.

“You bitch,” Clarke laughed, maneuvering the lemon wedge the other way with her tongue and sliding it out into her own mouth. She broke away from the kiss and bit down on the lemon, throwing it to the side when she was done. 

“I feel like I just took that tequila shot with you,” Lexa said, lips puckering after the lemon and taste of liquor. 

“Then get ready for round two. We have one more shot, and you’ll have to come and get the lemon from me.” Clarke passed her the tequila shot and put the lemon slice in her own mouth, wagging an eyebrow.

“I won’t be shy,” Lexa reassured before downing the shot. 

She leaned in more slowly for the kiss than Clarke did, and she ignored the lemon slice at first, instead just kissing Clarke’s lips and knowing that it would drive Clarke crazy. Sure enough, Clarke eventually pushed the lemon not-so-subtly towards her, and Lexa took it, backing up just enough to suck it dry and spit it out to the side. 

“I like the shot, and I like the kissing,” Lexa said, leaning back in and grabbing the back of Clarke’s neck, “but the lemon just gets in the way.”

Clarke let herself get pulled into the kiss, with Lexa’s lips surrounding her lower lip as Lexa’s head dipped to the side. Lexa ran her tongue over Clark’s lip, seeking entry, and Clarke opened her mouth wider. Clarke wasn’t sure when, but at some point she had placed her hand on Lexa’s thigh, and it was sliding steadily up her leg. They were both turned toward each other on the bench, but the angle of it was still a little awkward. 

Clarke solved this by twisting onto her knees on the bench and straddling Lexa’s waist between them. Lexa gasped in surprise, but it was soon followed by a moan into Clarke’s mouth, when Clarke dropped her hips and put pressure between Lexa’s legs. She began a rocking motion and curled her fingers into the hair underneath Lexa’s bun as they continued to kiss. Lexa’s hands were on her back and were sending fire through her body with just a touch. 

“Clarke…” Lexa was barely able to say. “Clarke…” She finally managed to pull away from the kiss, leaving Clarke panting. “I want to do this with you, Clarke. But maybe not here, on a bench, where anyone can walk by?”

Clarke just stared at her lips, seemingly unable to understand. But a thought occurred to her a moment later. “My room. We can go to my room. Right now.”

“Right now. Perfect.”

Clarke climbed off of her shakily, but Lexa steadied her with her hand. “I’ll get our weapons from inside.”

Clarke swayed slightly as she waited for Lexa to return from the rec center, looking at the stars. Stars that held such bittersweet thoughts for Lexa. Clarke wanted to make her see that the person Lexa had become, even after all of her deployments, was beautiful. 

A few moments later, Lexa returned carrying both of their weapons. She was silhouetted by the rec building’s lights behind her, and Clarke couldn’t help but smile. “Have I ever told you how much I like you?” she said as the Marine approached and gave her the M9 and shoulder holster. Clarke slipped it on with a little difficulty.

“I don’t think you have, Clarke.” 

“Well, I do. I like you. Like a fat kid likes cake.” Clarke stood closer to Lexa and wrapped her arms around her waist. “And this fat kid wants to eat her cake, if you know what I mean.”

Lexa smiled down at her. “I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

Clarke laughed a little too long at that, her eyes closing and staying closed. She swayed hard to the left, but Lexa held onto her arms and steadied her. 

Wrapping one arm around Clarke’s waist, Lexa started walking the two of them out of the camp. “And now we have a very drunk Clarke. Of course.”

“Who’s drunk? You are!” Clarke asked, her eyes still closed as she leaned heavily on Lexa. “I could fly a mission right now. I could meet my commander and say ‘how do you do, kind sir.’ I could punch Collins in the fucking mouth, because fuck that guy. Seriously, he’s shit. An actual pile of shit. Not even human shit. Something much worse. He’s tarantula shit. Do tarantulas shit?”

Lexa laughed to herself. “If they do, he’s definitely that.”

“They have to. Otherwise they’d be all constipated.” She struggled over the last word. “But you know what? You know what, Lexa?”

“What, Clarke?” Lexa was matching Clarke’s slow pace and still supporting her as they left the British camp. It would be a long walk back to the Air Force dorms.

“None of that other stuff matters,” Clarke said, leaning her head closer to Lexa’s ear. “Because I get to be here with you. We’re in the middle of fucking Afghanistan, and we got to go on a date and play foosball and beer pong and drink way too much cheap tequila.” 

Lexa looked over at her. “So this was a date, huh?”

Clarke managed to steady herself for long enough to intertwine her fingers with Lexa’s. “This was like, our fifth date. Sixth? I don’t know. We’re going steady.” Her grasp loosened as she realized what she had said. “I mean, if you want to.”

Squeezing Clarke’s hand, Lexa smiled at her. “I do want to. I care about you, Clarke. But this is something I would like to discuss with sober Clarke, I think. For now, we should focus on getting you back home safely.”

“I keep telling you, I’m fiiine,” Clarke drawled, but the hiccup that followed lessened the impact of her words. But eventually she smiled deviously at Lexa. “So you care about me, huh? Is that like how, I don’t know, a student cares about their grades, or you care about when the next season of Orphan Black comes out, or what? I need some clarification.”

Without warning, Lexa pulled Clarke by the hand into a deep shadow behind one of the buildings they were passing on the sidewalk. She pushed Clarke against the wall and pressed her own body close to hers, hands to either side of Clarke’s head on the wall. “I care about you, Clarke,” Lexa said, staring intently into her eyes. “I care about you being happy. I care about you being safe. I care about you being able to go back to UC Irvine and becoming a doctor. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make these things happen. But I don’t want to get into it tonight, since you probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

Clarke looked up at her sweetly, before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ll remember, I promise. For a Marine, you’re a big softie, do you know that?” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it with my last breath,” Lexa muttered, touching her forehead to Clarke’s.

“They already know, I promise, “Clarke laughed. “Blake referred to you as ‘Sergeant Heart Eyes’ earlier today.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about.” Lexa closed the distance between them, leaning in for a kiss that Clarke smiled into. The Airman’s tongue flicked against her lips, but Lexa pulled away. “I really need to get you back to your dorm.”

“But it’s so far,” Clarke pouted. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“That’s probably due to the last… five shots that you had when you thought I wasn’t watching.” She turned and crouched in front of Clarke, moving her rifle to the side of her body. “Here, climb on. It’ll be faster.”

Clarke’s drunken laughter behind her made Lexa roll her eyes. “Are you seriously giving me a piggy back ride?” Clarke asked, trying to contain herself.

“Yes, because you’re too damn slow,” Lexa growled, motioning with her hands for Clarke to hurry up. “Now come on--at this pace, we won’t even make it back in time for me to catch my flight out of here later this week.”

Lexa felt a lingering hand on her shoulder, before Clarke finally followed along and climbed awkwardly onto her back. The Marine balanced her on her back and started toward the dorm. She seemed unaffected by the extra weight.

Clarke rested her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me.” Her whisper was barely audible over the sound of Lexa’s boots on gravel and helicopters landing in the distance.

There was a long silence between them, then Lexa squeezed Clarke’s legs that she supported in her hands. “You know I wouldn’t go if I had the choice. I wouldn’t even be in this country again if I had the choice.”

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how difficult it is to deploy again after… what happened before. But I’m glad you’re here. That sounded really selfish. But I am being selfish. I’m glad I got to meet you here. Even though somewhere without uniforms and rules would have been nice. Somewhere with bikinis would have been awesome. Mexico. I wish we had met in Mexico”

Lexa laughed softly, as they approached Clarke’s dorm. “Me too, Clarke.”

She landed the Airman softly on the concrete in front of the door and grabbed two bottles of water from the palette nearby. After a few attempts, Clarke managed to remember the combination for the door and open it. Lexa followed her in, steadying her when she swayed down the brightly-lit hallway. They reached the door to her room, and Clarke struggled with the key to unlock it.

“Let me,” Lexa said, taking the key from her and opening the lock. 

“Thanks, Lexa,” Clarke said, stumbling into the room and practically falling onto her bed.

Lexa placed the two bottles of water near her bed and moved the trash can closer as well, just in case. She pulled back some strands of Clarke’s blonde hair from her eyes, which were already drooping shut. “Get some rest, Clarke.”

Her mouth was partially pushed into her pillow. “But we were supposed to do it,” Clarke mumbled.

“Next time,” Lexa smiled, kissing the top of Clarke’s head. “When you’ve had less tequila.”

“Okay…” Clarke was already asleep.

Sighing, Lexa allowed herself one last stroke of Clarke’s hair, before turning off the light and making sure the door shut behind her.


	9. Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa celebrate their last evening together with some good ol' fashioned fluff, angst, and smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first time I've written something so... ahem, explicit. I tried. Results may vary.

Clarke was having a more difficult time quelling the panic that was starting to rise within her. This was one of the bad ones. 

All 24 of the soldiers on board the C-130 were in serious or critical condition, injured by a roadside IED (improvised explosive device) and the firefight that ensued. Many already had circulation to their arms or legs cut off by a tourniquet in an attempt to stop the bleeding and save their lives. They would likely lose the limb in the process, but it had been the only way to save them in the field. But even after they had been transferred into the aeromedical evacuation aircraft, with more proper medical equipment than in the field hospital, there was still nothing they could do for such injuries than to keep the patient comfortable and relaxed.

But those weren’t the patients that were making Clarke’s breaths start to come in short gasps. She hurried from bed to bed, checking monitors, checking bandages, administering medicine, making sure that none of them were deteriorating. To make matters worse, they were flying near thunderstorms that had popped up that afternoon, and the turbulence was making her sick to her stomach. 

“Sergeant Griffin!” LtCol Abby yelled over the constant whir of the C-130’s propellers. “Check on patient 1-4!”

Clarke quickly finished checking the life signs of her current patient, before rushing down to patient 14’s bed, tripping and stumbling as they hit another patch of turbulence. She went through her mental checklist for each patient. Heart rate: rapid but steady. Breathing: shallow, fast. Wound priority: large piece of shrapnel lodged in his stomach. Various smaller shrapnel wounds on the head, chest, and legs. They just had to get this soldier to the Kandahar hospital, so the doctors there could remove the shrapnel, patch him up, and give him blood transfusions as needed...

The plane lurched again, even more violently than before, and despite the soldier being secured by two straps to the bed, his body rolled to the side and into the bed railing. The shrapnel protruding from his stomach was partially dislodged, and blood started gushing from the wound. Clarke instinctively put both of her hands on top of the wound as best she could, but the blood just poured past her fingers, down his side and soaking through the white bed sheets in seconds. 

“I am not going to let you die!” Clarke growled through gritted teeth, applying more pressure with her hands. The heart rate monitor beeped insistently in her ear. “Colonel Abby, come quick!” 

The doctor was by her side in moments, taking in the situation with one glance. “Dear God… Maintain pressure. Stabilize the shrapnel.” LtCol Abby pulled several bandages from a nearby supply cabinet and placed them under Clarke’s fingers over the wound, but they were quickly saturated with blood. 

Clarke’s vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears, and the steady tone from the heart rate monitor indicated that this soldier’s fight was already over. It had all happened so fast. One minute, he was stable, and the next he was bled out. And there had been nothing that Clarke could do about it. If only she had secured him to the bed better, or kept him steadier through the turbulence, or if they had flown further away from the thunderstorms….

“Griffin… Griffin… Clarke!”

She finally noticed LtCol Abby calling her name, but she couldn’t look away from the blood covering her surgical gloves. 

“Clarke, go take a break,” LtCol Abby ordered, not unkindly. “Wash up and take a minute to clear your head. There was nothing else you could do. You kept your head and did your job, but we can’t save everyone. But Jaha and I still need your help with the other patients. We can make a difference with them.”

Clarke nodded slowly, taking a paper towel and wiping off her gloves so she didn’t drip blood all over the aircraft. Still, the maintenance crew was going to have a hell of a time cleaning up after this mission. She closed the soldier’s eyes and said a silent farewell, before making her way to the front of the aircraft and the lavatory there. 

There must have been something she could have done differently to save him. He wasn’t the first patient that she had ever lost--that had been on her third mission during her deployment the year before--but it hurt everytime. Knowing that parents, spouses, and children back home would receive that phone call that would change everything. That friends would be shocked and think it’s all a cruel joke when they see the article, or the status on Facebook, announcing that their friend had died in combat. She wondered what his life had been like back home, and who he had just left behind. 

Raven was sitting near the front of the cargo hold, a headset over her ears as she monitored the radios and adjusted them as necessary. She burst out of her seat and tore off the headset when she saw Clarke barrel past her.

“Woah, Clarke, what happened?”

But Clarke didn’t respond and slammed the lavatory door behind her. She immediately grabbed onto the toilet seat with both hands and vomited into the toilet, again and again, until nothing was left. She hovered there for a long time, catching her breath. When she finally removed her gloved hands from the toilet seat, she left behind bloody marks that she didn’t bother to clean up. Rising to her feet and throwing the still-bloody gloves forcefully into the trash bin, she stared at her red, tear-brimmed eyes in the mirror. But she couldn’t let those tears fall. Not now.

A knock on the door brought her back into the moment. “Clarke? Are you OK? Can I come in?” 

Reluctantly, Clarke reached over and unlocked the door, allowing Raven inside the lavatory. She didn’t ask what happened, but just pulled Clarke into a side hug and kissed the side of her forehead. “It happens, Clarke. You can’t save them all.”

Clarke knew that. She did. But why did it still hurt so much? 

She nodded and pulled away from Raven’s hug. “Thanks, Raven. But I have to get back out there.”

Raven gave her a sad smile. “Yeah, they need you. Go save some lives, Griffin.”

Taking a shaky breath and wiping the last of her tears from her eyes, Clarke left the lavatory, grabbed a clean pair of gloves, and found LtCol Abby to see who the next priority patient was. It was going to be a long mission.

 

*********

 **Lexa, 1835:** Just back from patrol. May I take you on a date to Kandahar’s finest dining? 

**Lexa, 1857:** Pizza Hut. I meant Pizza Hut.

 **Lexa, 1921:** Are you alright Clarke? 

Clarke read over the texts quickly, sighing in exhaustion. She had just returned from her flight, debriefed, and turned in her body armor and extra ammunition. She was just picking up her phone and getting her bag from her cubby in the life support tent. Honestly, all she wanted to do after that flight was curl up on her bed and stare at the wall until she passed out and had to wake up the next day and do it all over again. But it was also Lexa’s last day on base before she shipped out to Helmand province, and there was no way she wasn’t going to say goodbye. Why couldn’t Clarke’s life be normal, so she didn’t have to simultaneously mourn losing not one but two patients during her flight and say goodbye to a woman who meant more and more to her every day? She took a long moment, leaning against the wall of cubbies, before texting Lexa back.

 **Clarke, 1928:** Sorry Lexa, just got back from my flight. Can we get chow hall to-go and watch a movie instead? 

**Lexa, 1929:** Just let me know when.

 **Clarke, 1929:** 15 minutes? 

**Lexa, 1930:** I’ll be there.

**********

Shaking her head in amazement as they walked down the hallway that was brightly lit with fluorescent bulbs, Lexa read the signs specifying who lived in each of the dorm rooms. “It’s still hard for me to believe that everyone gets their own room. The Marine Corps would jam as many bunk beds as they possibly could into each room, turn off the AC to ‘harden us up,’ and wake us all up with a screaming Master Sergeant every morning.” She paused in front of Raven’s room. “Wait, isn’t Reyes the one…”

Clarke paused with her in front of the closed door to Raven’s room. There was giggling coming from the other side, followed by the sound of a squeaking bed and Raven’s voice saying “God, you’re such a tease, O. Just touch me already.”

Clarke looked at Lexa with wide eyes, barely suppressing her laugh. It seemed that she and Lexa weren’t the only Airman-Marine pair trying to take things to the next level tonight. But maybe she was getting ahead of herself.

Continuing down the hallway, Lexa leaned in close to Clarke and whispered, “Seems that Airmen in your unit can’t resist Marines in my unit. I wonder why that is.”

Well, maybe Clarke hadn’t been getting ahead of herself. She took out her room key and turned it in the lock, pushing the door open, glancing back at Lexa. “It’s safe to say it isn’t your humility.”

“Humility is for people who don’t have anything to be proud of.” Lexa shut the door behind them, and they both placed their ice cream bowls into the mini-fridge and their food containers on top of the desk.

A twin bed, messily made, was against one wall, while the desk, mini-fridge, and wardrobe took up the rest of the room. It was cozy but private. Everything in the room was covered in a thin layer of dust--no matter how often Clarke cleaned her room, dust managed to get in through the window and ventilation system and nullify her hard work. 

“You still haven’t told me about your day, Clarke,” Lexa chided, sitting on the bed and quirking an eyebrow at the Airman.

“It was… stressful,” Clarke admitted, sitting next to her and placing her head on Lexa’s shoulder. “I will tell you all about it, but can we stuff our bodies with fried food and ice cream and pretend that our lives are normal for a while, first? I just… I really need that.”

“Of course, Clarke, whatever you need.” Lexa rubbed Clarke’s back over her shoulder holster. “But how about we get more comfortable? Combat boots are great for many things, but watching movies isn’t one of them.”

That made Clarke smile, despite everything. “That just sounds like an excuse to take your clothes off.”

“So what?” Lexa said, smirking, while getting up from the bed.

Clarke hung her M9 holster on the back of the desk chair, while Lexa propped her M16 rifle in the corner. Still sitting on the bed, Clarke was in the process of untying her tan combat boots, when she noticed that Lexa, standing in front of her, was unbuttoning her cami blouse. Not a big deal--Lexa had taken that off before when they were practicing self defense and during the salsa dancing lesson. Still, the sight of Lexa in her tight green T-shirt was enough to make Clarke’s fingers slow in untying her boots. But they came to an abrupt halt when Lexa began unbuttoning her cami pants. Right in front of her. Sitting on her bed, stooped low to reach her boots, Clarke stared at Lexa’s hands as they moved down the row of buttons. 

“Is this alright, Clarke?”

Gulping, Clarke tore her eyes away from the Marine’s hands and looked up to her face. Lexa’s smile was lopsided, as she had clearly been watching Clarke for some time. Clarke slowly sat up straight. Yes, it had been a shitty day, and she would never forget the faces of those she lost, but didn’t she deserve this, some semblance of happiness in a world gone mad? The grief from her mission still filled her chest, but this would help. Had to help. She gazed steadily into Lexa’s expectant eyes as she asked, “Would you like some help?” 

That answer seemed to take Lexa by surprise, but she moved her hands to her side and took a step closer to Clarke. She didn’t break eye contact either. Clarke saw a whole range of emotions there: lust, definitely; but also nervousness and expectation and affection.

Pulling her closer by her hands, Clarke looked down to focus on the buttons, as she slowly unbuttoned the final three. Her fingers were clumsier than they should have been--despite how far she and Lexa had gotten in the last couple of weeks, this was different. More intentional. They both knew this wouldn’t be like the bunker they had taken shelter in during the rocket attack, or the closet in the laundry facility, or outside of the British compound after the party. They were together, and alone, truly alone. That fact alone quickened Clarke’s breath in her chest that was already tight from remembering the mission, the blood on her hands, how life faded away from the eyes of someone losing too much blood...

Clarke pushed that from her mind. She needed this, needed Lexa. Right now. She gave the Marine one questioning look as she unbuttoned the last button on her pants and got a curt nod in response. Clarke pulled the cami pants down Lexa’s legs, revealing muscular quads and a pair of maroon underwear. Her skin was incredibly tanned and riddled with multiple scratches, scars, and bruises. The Marine life was not an easy one. But today, neither was an Airman’s.

Clarke watched as Lexa stepped out of the pants and pushed them away with one foot. Her movements were strong but graceful, and Clarke admired her athleticism. She put both hands on Lexa’s hip bones and pushed up the green T-shirt slightly, so that she could place a line of kisses up Lexa’s taught stomach. Lexa’s hands moved to Clarke’s bun at the nape of her neck and undid it, unfurling curly locks of blonde hair. She laced her fingers through it and hummed deep in her throat as Clarke dragged her tongue upward from Lexa’s belly button as far she could, before hitting her bunched-up shirt. 

“Can I?” Clarke indicated to Lexa’s shirt. 

Lexa nodded, but took off the shirt herself and stood tall in front of Clarke, looking down at her. Clarke couldn’t help but take a moment to let her eyes roam over the Marine’s body: muscular, from the years of physical training that Lexa had endured; wounds, new and old, scattered across her body, from her four deployments and the battles those had brought and were currently bringing; but she was still soft, smooth, beautiful. The white sports bra that concealed her breasts didn’t stop Clarke’s imagination from running wild. But in the corner of her eye, she could still see their faces. The two soldiers, life drained out of them. She suppressed those thoughts. She could do this--had to do this. Wanted so desperately to do this.

Clarke took Lexa’s hands and pulled her down into a passionate kiss that was already sloppy from their unfulfilled need. Putting one knee and then the other on either side of Clarke, the Marine positioned herself over Clarke and held her face in her hands, deepening the kiss and flicking her tongue into her mouth. Clarke moaned against her, as she ran her hands up and down Lexa’s back and settled them onto her ass that was only partially covered by the maroon underwear. Lexa’s tight stomach rubbed against her body, as she rocked up and down in Clarke’s lap.

She gradually pulled away from Clarke’s mouth, biting her lower lip as she did so. “You seem to still be fully clothed, Clarke,” she said, an inch away from Clarke’s lips. 

“And you’re not.” Clarke slipped one hand under the band of Lexa’s underwear and slid the other up Lexa’s leg. When she reached Lexa’s inner thigh, the Marine shuddered against her. But Clarke still paused, looking questioningly into Lexa’s eyes. “Are you sure, Lexa? 

In response, Lexa reached up with both hands and removed her own sports bra. Her breasts were a few shades lighter than the rest of her tanned body, and they were suddenly right in front of Clarke’s face. Clarke’s vision flicked down to them and stayed.

“I’m sure, Clarke,” Lexa said, enjoying how Clarke was taking her in. “We’re finally alone, my phone is on silent, and God help me, nothing and no one can stop us now.”

“No one….” Clarke was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts. She was being overcome by her body’s response to a nearly-naked Lexa in her lap, but something in the back of her mind was still screaming at her. But Clarke could no longer help herself, and she put her mouth on Lexa’s breast and sucked, while slipping her hand further up Lexa’s leg. The slightest pressure against Lexa’s clit was enough to start her grinding down onto her hand. 

“You’re already so wet,” Clarke noticed, rubbing her fingers up and down over the soaked underwear over Lexa’s opening.

“And I have been for weeks, because of you.” Lexa lowered her face just above Clarke’s and pulled her into another kiss. But Lexa broke away a moment later, concern etched across her face. “Clarke, what’s wrong? You’re crying.”

Clarke hadn’t noticed when tears had started streaming down her cheeks, she had been so occupied with kissing and touching Lexa. But as soon as Lexa pointed it out, and Clarke realized what she had been doing and trying to cover up and oh God, the faces of those two soldiers were still there. But if she closed her eyes and kissed Lexa hard enough, maybe they would go away…

Lexa held Clarke’s face worriedly, as Clarke broke down into sobs that almost made it impossible for her to breath. Climbing off of her lap, Lexa positioned herself against the headboard and pulled Clarke to her chest, her back firmly against Lexa’s body. She wrapped her arms around the Airman and rocked her gently.

“Shhhhh, Clarke, everything’s going to be OK.” 

That just made Clarke shake in her arms even more, but after a few minutes she seemed to gain control of herself and breathe more steadily. “I lost them, Lexa…. They died right in front of me. Private First Class Tucker and Staff Sergeant Lopez. I couldn’t do anything about it… I couldn’t save them…” 

Clarke was overtaken with sobs once again, and Lexa just held her close and stroked her arms. “I’m sure you tried your best, Clarke. No one could have done anything.”

Clarke nodded against Lexa. She had already told herself that, and LtCol Abby had told her that, just like Raven had, and Jaha, and the rest of her crew. But it still hurt. “I was supposed to keep them safe. I just had to get them back to Kandahar, and they would have been fine. But there was so much turbulence, and they just weren’t steady enough…”

Lexa squeezed her tight and kissed the side of her forehead. “You did everything you could. But this is war, Clarke. People die, despite everything we do to try to help them. War isn’t fair, or right, or glorious. It’s just people killing other people.”

“Well, I’m sick of it!” Clarke said, gaining control of herself once again. “I’m sick of seeing people with families back home, wives and kids and brothers and sisters and parents, getting shot and blown to pieces out here. They have so much to live for, and they’re throwing it all away. And for what? Is Afghanistan any safer because they’re here and losing their lives? Are things better here after over a decade of war? We don’t even know who the enemy is most of the time. How can we fight someone when they’re shooting at us one minute and blending in with the rest of the village the next? It’s preposterous. There’s no way that we can win against that. And yet, our people are dying every fucking day out here…” Clarke paused and looked back over her shoulder, tears filling her eyes once again. “And you… you’re heading out there again. Helmand is so dangerous. Most of my missions are in Helmand. And the thought of you getting hurt….”

“Clarke…” Lexa seemed to be at a loss for words, as she just held the Airman tighter against herself and settled her head against Clarke’s. “I’m going to be OK. I’ve already survived three deployments, so what’s a fourth? I don’t agree with this war either, but when you’re out there… You’re fighting for each other. I only care about getting my squad back alive. If we have to shoot the enemy to accomplish that, then so be it. Protecting each other is all we have. And Clarke, you have to believe me when I say that the other Marines think the same way I do. They’re looking out for me, just as I’m looking out for them. I’ll come back to you.” Lexa’s voice lowered as she rocked Clarke gently. “I’ll come back to you, Clarke.”

Clarke turned in Lexa’s arms and clung to the Marine tenaciously. “You have to, Lexa. You have to come back, in one piece, with your sense of humor, and all of your limbs, and not a single scratch on you.”

Lexa dropped her head into the side of Clarke’s neck and snorted a laugh. “I don’t know if I can promise that, Clarke. But I will come back to you. And you have to stay safe, too. Don’t let the pilots give you control of the aircraft, no matter what.”

That made Clarke laugh, despite it all.

“But I won’t know what to do if something happened to you, Clarke,” Lexa continued. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through this deployment without you.”

Clarke pulled back from Lexa and searched her eyes for a moment. Lexa’s were moist with unfallen tears. “So it’s decided,” Clarke said with a twist of her mouth. “We both have to stay alive for each other.”

“Exactly.” Lexa gave her a sad smile, as Clarke leaned in and kissed her gently. 

That’s when Clarke noticed that Lexa was still topless and only wearing her underwear. She blushed, trying to look away from the Marine’s chest. “I’m sorry about breaking apart earlier… I couldn’t get their faces out of my head.”

Lexa stroked the final tear that was lingering on Clarke’s cheek. “Maybe we can put each other back together again.”

Smiling, Clarke nodded. “I like the sound of that.” At that moment, her stomach growled loudly, surprising them both. “I guess we should actually eat something now.” Clarke climbed off of the bed and threw Lexa’s shirt back at her. “And clothe yourself, woman. You’re distracting.”

Lexa just smirked at her as she pulled the olive green T-shirt over her head. “This is as clothed as you’re going to get me tonight.”

“Fine by me,” Clarke replied, winking and grabbing their food containers from the desk and setting them on the bed. 

**********

The remains of their dinners and ice cream littered the desk, as Clarke laughed against Lexa’s body and Lexa gently stroked her hair. “Pitch Perfect” was just finishing on the laptop perched atop Clarke’s knees. They were reclined on top of Clarke’s bed, and Clarke, sighing contentedly, nuzzled impossibly closer to her.

Lexa sighed too, but for a different reason. “It speaks to how much I like you that I watched that entire movie.”

Clarke slapped one of the arms that was wrapped around her stomach. “Oh come on, I felt you bobbing along with their last mash-up. And you know that Bechloe is totally a thing.”

“Bechloe?” 

“Beca and Chloe.” Clarke turned her head back to see Lexa’s incredulous look. “They set it up perfectly with the shower scene, and all the meaningful looks and staring into each other’s eyes while they sing. But they settled for the same old heterosexual romance instead. Typical.”

“You seem to really care about them.” Lexa’s eyes laughed, even though she was managing to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, well, I just thought they were really cute together.” She continued in a quieter tone, “And I may have done a few drawings of them.”

“Can I see them?” Lexa asked too quickly. 

“What? No. Definitely no.”

But Clarke’s attempted subtle closing of the laptop lid was all the clue that Lexa needed. She pinned Clarke’s arms to her side as she reached forward and brought the laptop closer, opening a new tab in the web browser. “Don’t make me open up your Instagram or Twitter or whatever people use to post their pornographic drawings of fictional acapella singers.”

“Pornographic?!” Clarke said defensively, continuing to struggle against Lexa’s strong arms. “Just because they’re naked doesn’t make it pornographic.”

Lexa finally couldn’t hold in her laughter any longer. If Clarke wasn’t so embarrassed, she would have thought it was wonderful to hear the Marine letting loose like that. But Lexa’s grip on her had slackened, and Clarke was able to free her arms enough to push the laptop further down the bed and swivel in Lexa’s embrace.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” Clarke said, leaning in closer. “I know how to shut you up.”

Lexa’s laughter was abruptly cut off, as Clarke closed the distance between them and kissed her. The humor and embarrassment vanished in a moment, and Lexa kissed her back desperately. Clarke needed her, needed everything about her: the teasing, the caring, the unstoppable commitment to her safety. She knew that she had only known Lexa for two short weeks, but she felt that her life had already changed forever. They understood each other, even when their supervisors and squadmates never did. The losses of earlier that day still haunted her--and they would haunt her forever--but right now, she needed to feel close to Lexa, to gain strength from her, to melt into her and feel safe and beautiful and complete.

Straddling Lexa, Clarke leaned up straight and removed her tan uniform T-shirt in one smooth motion. Lexa watched her hungrily, her hands moving from Clarke’s stomach and up her sides. One hand moved behind her back and undid the snap on her bra, and Clarke removed it quickly, tossing it across the room. Lexa’s hands cupped both of her breasts, and Clarke began to rock against Lexa’s leg.

But in one swift motion, Lexa flipped Clarke onto her back and leaned down to kiss her until Clarke was breathless. “Are you sure, Clarke?” she asked in barely more than a whisper. “We don’t have to do anything--”

But Clarke’s mouth was already back on hers, and she was pulling Lexa’s shirt off over her head. Lexa raised her arms to help her and removed her sports bra as well, before focusing her attention on the blue PT shorts Clarke was wearing and pulling those down her legs and discarding them at the end of the bed. She took in Clarke’s nearly-naked form beneath her for a long moment. “You’re beautiful, Clarke. Every inch of you.”

Clarke pulled her down on top of her, relishing the feeling of their skin coming together, finally. “And I need you to touch me. Every inch of me.”

Lexa licked her own lip, before entangling one hand in Clarke’s hair that was spread across the pillow and pulling her up into a kiss that belied what was in store for her. Her other hand spread up the curves of Clarke’s leg, settling on the black underwear that Clarke was still wearing. “These have to go,” she breathed against Clarke’s mouth.

Never breaking eye contact, Clarke slipped them off of herself. With how slowly Lexa was going, she was sure that pair was ruined. Not that she cared at the moment. She sat up quickly, putting their bodies flush against one another, Lexa kneeling in her lap. She took Lexa’s neck in her mouth, nipping and licking and sucking, all of which had Lexa sighing in need. She slipped one hand between Lexa’s legs and rubbed her hand over her opening, her hand instantly covered in Lexa’s wetness. She brought the hand up to her own mouth and sucked each of her fingers in turn, Lexa watching her with eyes that seemed to grow darker with each moment. 

“Do you want to taste yourself?” Clarke offered. Lexa’s lips were on hers before she even finished the sentence, and they moaned into each other’s mouths, as Clarke returned her hand to Lexa’s clit and began rubbing slow circles. Lexa rocked her body against her hand and sighed in response to Clarke redirecting her attentions to one breast and then the other. 

“Fuck me, Clarke,” Lexa barely managed to say, her head rolling backward and eyes closing. 

Clarke inserted two fingers all at once, which elicited a gasp from Lexa as she nearly fell against her. She began pumping her fingers, rolling them side to side, and payed particular attention to areas that caused Lexa to moan “Fuck Clarke, yes,” into her ear. She had meant to work slowly, but having Lexa moaning and rocking against her was too much for Clarke to be able to control herself. She began to rub Lexa’s clit with her thumb, and all it took was a twist of her fingers to make Lexa fall apart. Clarke enjoyed the feeling of Lexa clenching around her fingers and holding onto her for dear life, before taking back her hand and holding Lexa against her by the waist. 

Lexa’s hair cascaded around her face as she caught her breath. “We should have done this ages ago.”

“We tried, remember?” Clarke grinned. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she thought that post-sex Lexa was even more gorgeous than the Lexa she had seen before.

Lexa held onto her face as she kissed Clarke, slowly and deeply. The feeling of Lexa’s tongue in her mouth, and the intoxicating scent of her, her smooth skin against her body, was enough to make Clarke forget where she was. So it came as a surprise when Lexa pushed Clarke’s upper body down onto the bed and pulled her by her legs toward her. Lexa leaned down over her and began kissing her neck, moving down her body to her collarbone and chest. She lingered at her breasts, sucking on one and playing with the other with her hand, as her knee pushed with increasing pressure between Clarke’s legs.Clarke grabbed the headboard above her head and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of Lexa’s lips on her body. As Lexa continued down her body, Clarke’s breathing quickened and her hips moved in tandem with the rocking pressure from Lexa’s knee. 

Her breath hitched when Lexa’s mouth finally made it between her legs. “Oh God, Lexa…”

Lexa held Clarke’s legs further apart, as she licked Clarke’s slit from top to bottom. Clarke moaned loudly, before realizing that she was in her dorm and she should probably try to be more quiet. But Lexa sucking on her clit quickly made her forget about that, and she couldn’t hold back another moan that was louder than the first. 

“Fuck Lexa, how are you doing this to me--oh God…”

Lexa’s tongue had been joined by her fingers, which were now pumping in and out of her with a slow but insistent rhythm. Lexa took a moment to raise her head and look at Clarke’s rapturous look, and Clarke’s hips followed Lexa’s mouth upward, as if ordering her to continue. She did, her fingers moving faster and deeper and her tongue flicking across her clit and her mouth sucking and biting and generally putting Clarke into a frenzy.

When she came, the cry that escaped from Clarke luckily coincided with the roar of a pair of F-15s taking off from the nearby runway. Whether the dorm was actually shaking from them taking off, or she was imagining it from the wonderful things that Lexa’s mouth was still doing to her body, she couldn’t tell.

Clarke’s shaking finally ended, and Lexa moved up her body and perched herself above Clarke. “You seemed to enjoy that, Clarke,” Lexa smirked above her. 

“Not sure,” Clarke managed, still catching her breath. “We might have to do it again, so I can make up my mind.”

Lexa smiled and looked down to her lips. “That can be arranged.” 

Clarke laced her fingers into Lexa’s hair and pulled her down for another kiss, and they settled next to each other on the bed, Lexa wrapping her arms and legs around her. 

Touching their foreheads together, Clarke closed her eyes. “Why does this have to be over already? I just found you.”

Lexa rubbed her cheek. “It doesn’t have to be over. I could visit you, in Irvine. It’s only an hour from Camp Pendelton.”

Clarke pulled back to look her in the eye. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t realized how close they would live next to each other in California once this deployment was over. “Can you imagine? Getting coffee together without having a rocket attack? Or being able to kiss each other in public? Or holding hands whenever we feel like it…” She intertwined her fingers with Lexa’s.

“I can,” Lexa said resolutely. “I know that all of this is far away, but… I can’t accept never seeing you again. You’re going home in four months, and I’m here for another year. I need something to look forward to, Clarke.” She paused, gulping. “I need a reason to go home.”

Clarke’s heart ached for her. To be away from home for so long, to see violence and bloodshed everyday, and to lose her teammates in battle… After a minute, she smiled and nudged Lexa softly. “If you wanted me to take you on a date back in California, all you had to do was ask.”

The corners of Lexa’s mouth upturned. “Please. I’ll be the one taking you out on a date.”

“And the Marine superiority complex rears its ugly head yet again,” Clarke grinned, before becoming more serious. “A year is a long time, Lexa.” 

Lexa pulled her even closer and placed her head on Clarke’s chest. “Yes. Yes it is.”

Clarke stroked her fingers through Lexa’s hair as they fell silent, trying to figure out a way for them to be together before then, but failing. She should have been used to life not being fair, especially in the military, but this was nearly too much to handle. 

“I know you have to leave early tomorrow morning,” Clarke said, “but… can you stay with me tonight?”

Lexa shifted her head and kissed Clarke softly. “There is nowhere else I want to be.”

They pulled the covers over themselves, turned off the lamp on the desk, and held each other like their lives depended on it. Clarke thought she would never fall asleep, with her mind and heart so full, but she did.


	10. 101 Ways to be Pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their Marines gone, Clarke and Raven forge new territory in being mopey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, another chapter! University has started again, which makes finding the time to write even more difficult. But rest assured that I'll finish writing this (eventually).
> 
> I'm so thrilled that you guys are enjoying the story, and your comments give me life. As always, thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts!

Clarke woke up much more naked than she usually did. The feeling confused her, until she remembered the reason why and sighed in contentment. She reached an arm over to the other side of the bed, but the sheets were already cold. Propping herself up on her elbow, Clarke opened her eyes and quickly scanned the room with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. No. She wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Would she? 

Throwing the sheets off of herself, Clarke slid off the bed and grabbed her phone from the desk. It was already 0900--another hour until Clarke’s scheduled show time, and a good four hours since Lexa had had to leave her dorm to gather her gear and board a C-130 to Helmand with the rest of her squad. But Lexa should have awoken her, should have said something, shouldn’t have left without a word as if they didn’t mean anything to one another...

Slowly, it was coming back to her: the scratching of a pen on paper, a light caress along her cheek, and lips on her forehead… Clarke had only been half-awake at the time, and she wasn’t sure whether it had actually happened or if she had just dreamed it. Glancing over to the desk, she saw a single piece of paper with a pen sitting neatly by its side. No, it would seem that she didn’t imagine the whole thing. 

She sprung out of bed and snatched the paper into her hands. She was torn between trying to read it as fast as possible and actually trying to understand what Lexa had written her. Her first read-through wasn’t much use, but she continued reading and breathing until the letter slowly formed in her mind. Lexa’s handwriting was neat and angular.

_  
Clarke,_

_I didn’t wake you--I couldn’t say goodbye again._

_Last night was… memorable. The best night I’ve spent in Afghanistan by far. The best night I’ve spent in a long time._

_I wish I didn’t have to go. But I do. I’ll miss your laugh, your wit, and various parts of your anatomy that I won’t mention in case Raven reads this later. In summary: I’ll miss you._

_May we meet again,_

_Lexa  
_

Clarke had never felt so simultaneously full and empty. Being with Lexa made her feel at peace, despite the turmoil of deployed life. She was a dose of normalcy in a place where military rules and the deaths of enemies and friends alike hung over their heads. But it was more than that--Lexa complemented her. They were both strong. They were both warriors. But while Lexa struggled to express her emotions, Clarke was more perceptive and communicative. And while Clarke could be overwhelmed by loss and grief, Lexa was the rock that could anchor her. Clarke liked her and enjoyed spending time with her, yes. But she felt that, on a fundamental level, she and Lexa had a connection that she had rarely shared with anyone else.

But none of that changed the fact that hundreds of miles of war-torn Afghanistan now separated them. And Lexa would be the boots on the ground in that war.

After reading (and re-reading) Lexa’s note, Clarke took her cell phone and began laboriously typing out a message using the T9 keys. 

**Clarke, 0920** : I wish you had woken me up. I would have liked to say goodbye.

 **Clarke, 0921** : But I understand that it wouldn’t have made things any easier. 

**Clarke, 0923** : It was a great night for me too btw. Miss you already. Call when you can!

She sighed. Although Lexa had only been gone for a few hours, she could already feel the distance growing between them. She didn’t expect Lexa to be able to reply for a long while--military transport flights had a bad habit of taking far longer than they should. Clarke remembered her flight from the military transport center in Kyrgyzstan, when her three hour flight to Kandahar turned into a 12 hour ordeal due to maintenance issues and what could only be described as exceeding incompetence on the part of the Air Mobility Command.

Clarke smiled to herself as she picked up all of her scattered clothing from across the room. She didn’t know how Lexa had managed to find all of her clothes without turning on the light. Clarke wished she had, so at least she would have woken up and been able to say goodbye. 

When Clarke pulled her sheet and comforter up the bed, she paused for a moment and leaned down to bring one of the pillows up to her nose and inhaled deeply. It still smelled like her. She wondered how long that would last, before even that vestige of Lexa would be gone from her life. 

Once she was dressed in her flight suit and had arranged her hair until the required bun, Clarke exited her room into the brightly-lit hallway which connected the rooms of the other female flight crew members of her squadron. She heard loud rock music with screaming vocals coming from Raven’s room and frowned. Raven didn’t typically listen to that kind of music. Checking her watch, Clarke figured there would still be enough time to talk to Raven and get breakfast before their briefing later that morning.

Clarke knocked on Raven’s door, but the music continued unabated. There were likely other aircrew asleep in the dorm rooms down the hall, but Clarke risked it and knocked louder. The music turned down to tolerable levels a second later, and Raven opened the door just a crack, revealing red, bloodshot eyes and that she was still wearing a camisole and shorts. 

“Griffin?” Raven’s voice cracked. “What do you want?”

Clarke was taken aback by how raw Raven’s voice sounded. “Are you doing alright? Mind if I come in? I’m guessing that Octavia left early this morning, too…”

Raven just sighed before opening the door wide enough for Clarke to come in. The sheets on her bed were scattered haphazardly, there was a pile of to-go containers from the chow hall on her desk, and that smell could only mean that Raven and Blake had spent abundant amounts of quality time together in this room for the last several days. 

Without saying another word, Raven collapsed back onto the bed and hugged a pillow to herself. “This sucks, Griffin. Why do all the good ones have to be Marines.”

“Never tell them that,” Clarke attempted to joke, sitting on the bed next to Raven and rubbing her friend’s shoulder. “They won’t ever let you live it down, and they’re cocky enough as it is.”

“I made so much fun of you for falling for Lexa, and look at me? I’m a fucking mess.” Raven barked a laugh that may have also been a sob, Clarke couldn’t tell for certain. 

Clarke was having a difficult time trying to be positive with Raven, when all she wanted to do was lay in bed and hug a pillow to her chest, too. But on a practical level, they didn’t have time to mope.

“I’m a mess too, Raven. But we have to find better ways to process our feelings right now. Ways that may look suspiciously like going to work and hacking the mish. But after our briefing, I am 100% on board with drowning our sorrows in sugary foods and doing our best to gain 500 pounds before we see Lexa and Octavia again.”

Raven smiled at that, but didn’t move from the bed. “Or how about we go to the gym and run until we can’t feel our legs or broken hearts anymore. And then eat our own weight in ice cream. Then we’ll feel like we really, really earned it.”

“You got it,” Clarke said, clapping Raven on the shoulder. “But first thing’s first. You have to get up and shower--you smell like you’ve been having sex non-stop for the past week.”

“You’re not far from the truth,” Raven admitted as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. “How much time do we have?”

Clarke checked her watch again. “40 minutes--and I’m willing to skip the omelette line this morning, but I may never forgive you if you make us so late I don’t get pancakes.”

“Shit, you’re feisty when you’re girlfriend leaves.” Raven clambered out of bed and grabbed her towel and shower caddy from her locker. She placed a hand on the doorknob, but turned back to Clarke. “And Griffin… thanks. I know I shouldn’t be this hung up on her, but she’s hilarious and tough and won’t take anyone’s shit, and… I just really like her, and between being deployed and having to say goodbye to her...” She shook her head.

“You and me both, Reyes,” Clarke smiled sadly at her, as she rose from the bed and followed Raven out of the room. “But I swear to God, if you make me miss breakfast…”

“Yes, ma’am!” Raven said sardonically as she scurried down the hallway in her shower shoes. She disappeared into the bathroom, but Clarke heard a faint “Give me pancakes or give me death!”

 

**********

 

“Do you guys want to play Smash Brothers?” Jasper asked off-handedly, after they had finished their pre-flight briefing, and everyone was filing out of the briefing room. 

“No,” Clarke and Raven answered simultaneously, looking at each other and pouting.

“Ping pong? I’ll let you guys play 2-against-1.”

“First of all, no,” Raven said, getting fired up. “Second of all, don’t insinuate that we can’t beat you individually just because we’re women.”

Jasper stopped abruptly and held his arms out in an innocent gesture. “What?! I only said that because I’ve seen Griffin play, and she’s terrible. I know you can put up a fight, Reyes. What’s going on with you guys today? We have ten hours to kill, so we might as well try to have some fun.”

“Maybe another day.” Clarke said, as she and Raven walked past Jasper and left him behind in the briefing room. “I think I saw a box set of Gilmore Girls in the morale tent, Reyes. What do you say?” 

Raven started singing “If you’re out on the road,” in response, and Clarke joined in with “Feeling lonely and so cold…” They put an arm around one another and exited the tent, their singing becoming louder and increasingly off-key.

AIC Wells walked up behind Jasper, who was looking on in bewilderment, and patted him on the back. “Only those who are truly heartbroken can sing that badly and not care who hears.”

Jasper frowned. “What are you talking about, heartbroken?”

“Come on, Sergeant,” Wells laughed, “their Marines left this morning. Where have you been? I thought you liked knowing exactly what was going on with everyone so you could hold it over them later.”

“What a fool I’ve been,” Jasper whispered seriously, as a thought dawned on him. “But if they’re sad… they might need a shoulder to cry on. We have shoulders. They should cry on us!” Jasper turned on his heel and started running down the hallway. “Come on! We have to go tell Monty. He’ll know exactly what to say.”

Hesitating, Wells let out a frustrated huff and walked quickly after Jasper. “You’re lucky I don’t have anything better to do out here.”

 

**********

 

Somehow, they had managed to find a bag of microwaveable popcorn in one of the care packages that had been abandoned in the morale tent (it had also contained multiple toothbrushes and some miniature New Testaments, but those made decidedly worse snack foods). Between the popcorn, some somewhat stale oatmeal raisin cookies that Clarke’s mom had sent, and a couple of Rip It energy drinks each, Clarke and Raven were riding a sugar and caffeine high. They had almost convinced themselves that today was a normal day.

“Oh no… he’s going to kiss her!” Raven held up her hand in front of her eyes, as they watched Dean lean in and kiss Rory in the Star’s Hollow supermarket. 

Clarke almost choked on her Rip It. “Are you kidding me, Reyes? You don’t like Dean? Everyone likes Dean. He’s literally the perfect boyfriend.”

“Yeah, he’s the perfect boyfriend, until he ISN’T,” Raven emphasized with bits of popcorn flying out of her mouth, “and he gets insanely jealous and marries someone else and makes you feel guilty about how terrible his life is and has sex with you but then gets super awkward about it.”

“Woah, spoiler alert!” Clarke said sarcastically, miming covering her ears with her palms.

“Oh please, how many times have you seen this show?” Raven’s expression turned dark. “But most importantly, Dean has that same dopey haircut as He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

Clarke’s confusion was obvious. “Um, Voldemort was bald. Unless you’re talking about Collins.”

Raven threw a kernel of popcorn at her. “What’s the point of saying ‘He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named when you go and say his name two seconds later? Of course I’m talking about Finn…. Collins, I mean. Have you seen pictures of him before he joined? Long hair, parted down the middle. The resemblance is uncanny.”

Clarke figured they were only talking about this since Raven was already feeling emotional after Octavia leaving. Otherwise, Raven usually liked to deny that she and Collins were ever in a relationship.

“At least you were dating someone that looks like a famous actor, right?” Clarke joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Dean’s pretty hot now, too. Although there’s a disturbing amount of fanfiction written about him and that other guy in Supernatural.”

“You’re such a nerd, Griffin,” Raven said, shaking her head. “But no, much like Rory and Dean, Collins and I crashed and burned… although neither of our moms practically walked in on us, thank God.”

“Spoilers, Reyes!” Clarke yelled, before turning serious. “But you know I’m sorry for the part I played in that crashing and burning, right? I didn’t even know that those were ‘dates’ that he was taking me on. I thought we were just two NCOs going to lunch--”

“I know, I know,” Raven interrupted. “God, he didn’t even cheat on me in a cool way. I need to make up a better story for what happened. ‘Boyfriend attempted to cheat on me with clueless, naive Staff Sergeant by buying her Chipotle’ just doesn’t make it sound as devastating as it actually was.”

“Well, good thing we’re seeing women now.” Clarke shot Raven a panicked look as soon as she realized what she had said. “Sort of seeing. Long distance seeing. I actually have no idea what we’re doing with them.” 

Raven pouted, passing the bag of popcorn to Clarke and taking another cookie. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘pining.’ We’re pining for them right now, while they’re off gallivanting across Afghanistan, being heroes and saving the day and telling dick jokes to each other. Fucking Marines.”

They turned back to the Gilmore Girls episode. “Fucking Marines…” Clarke whispered, and they both sighed.

 

**********

 

What they never told you about being a Marine was that one of the greatest threats you would ever face was Death by Powerpoint.

A stern Staff Sergeant with a formidable high-and-tight haircut had been droning on about Camp Bastion protocol and glaring intermittently at random people in the audience whom he suspected were falling asleep. Granted, it was all necessary information: where camp facilities were; their anticipated ops tempo; and (yet another) review of General Order 1B telling them not to drink or have fun or have sex, ever; but Lexa had sat through too many of briefings just like this one to have to pay much attention anymore. 

“In case of ground attack,” the Staff Sergeant yelled at the front of the room, standing in front of the Powerpoint diagram of the camp. “Lima company will take control of the southeastern defense positions 7, 8, and 9. You will place machine gunners at the turrets, and the rest of you grunts will give supplemental fire as necessary. If Hajis make it inside the wire, organize into your fire teams, breach any entry points, and send those bastards to hell. Oorah!”

Every Marine in the room answered back with a resounding “Oorah!” with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Alright, take 5,” the presenter shouted. “The head and the smoke pit are across the street.”

Everyone burst out of their folding metal chairs, eager to move after sitting through over an hour of briefings. Lexa caught up with GySgt Anya as she exited the tent into the hot glare of day. “Gunny, you having a smoke?” Lexa asked, securing her cover on her head. 

Anya already had her pack of cigarettes halfway out of the arm pocket of her camis before Lexa had even finished her question. “Not much else to do out here, Carey. It’s either have the Hajis trying to kill us quickly, or we’re trying to kill ourselves slowly”

They crossed the road that separated the briefing tent from the smoke pit. The rickety metal sunshade was already packed with Marines, but Anya’s presence was enough to open up a space for her and Lexa. The awkward silence that fell around them was soon filled with laughter coming from the other side of the smoke pit, and conversation eventually resumed. As a senior NCO, GySgt Anya was too high-ranking for many lower enlisted to feel comfortable around her.

“Did you smoke before you enlisted, Gunny?” Lexa leaned in slyly. “Or can you even remember that far back?”

Anya shot her a venomous look before taking a long drag from her cigarette. “12 years isn’t that long ago. You guys treat me like I’m a dinosaur. And of course I did--what self-respecting teenager doesn’t smoke. Having your older sibling buy cigarettes for you is a rite of passage.”

Lexa smirked, flicking away her ash. “I guess I wasn’t a self-respecting teenager. My basketball coach would have killed me if I even smelled like cigarettes.”

“You were one of those motivated kids, weren’t you? Winning nationals and getting scholarships and being crowned homecoming queen…” 

Lexa raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Two out of three, Gunny. Not bad.”

“Which one did I get wrong?” Anya demanded.

Blowing smoke from her mouth, Lexa looked at her sideways. “Can you really imagine me wearing a tiara?”

Anya snorted a laugh. “I don’t really want to either.”

Many of the Marines were already done smoking and were throwing their cigarettes butts into the receptacle. Lexa moved to do the same, but Anya stopped her with an upheld hand. 

“One more thing,” Anya began seriously, rolling her finished cigarette between her fingertips. “You heard what the sergeant briefed us earlier--we’re going to be patrolling every other day, and most patrols have contact before they make it back to camp. You’re a fire team leader, and a fucking good one at that. But back in Kandahar, you were…. distracted.”

Lexa gulped. She didn’t like where this was going, but she wasn’t surprised either.

“I let it happen,” Anya continued, “because I knew you were coming out here and having to deal with male jarheads day in and day out, but it’s over now. I need you to be one hundred percent. Anything less, and some of us will be going home in a box. You can text her or Skype or whatever the hell young people are doing these days, but you will not be distracted. Clear?”

Lexa’s face revealed no emotion. “Yes, Gunnery Sergeant. I would never do anything to risk the lives of my squad.” 

“Good.” Anya flicked her cigarette butt on the ground and started making her way back to the briefing tent. 

Taking the last puff of her cigarette, Lexa held the smoke in her lungs for a long moment before exhaling. She wasn’t surprised that Anya had reprimanded her for her behavior with Clarke at Kandahar, but she also knew that keeping her mind on the mission would be a challenge. She and Clarke had made far too many promises (and had far too much sex) last night for Lexa to not be distracted. But Anya was right--all it took out here was one second of distraction for people to die. And regardless of Lexa’s feelings for Clarke, the lives of her squadmates came first.

Was she capable of texting with and constantly being reminded of Clarke? Could she really keep her mind on on her job: interacting with locals, training Afghan soldiers, and generally trying not to get shot or blown up, with Clarke being a living reminder that there was more to life than this deployment? 

Lexa didn’t know. And that scared her.

But if her current state of mind was any indication… she needed to put her squad first, no matter what. They would give their lives for her, and she would give her life for theirs. As Marines, they fully understood that sometimes their missions were bullshit, and that there was a large chance that the entire war was a waste of time, money, and lives, but none of that mattered. They were Marines. For one reason or another, they had all signed up to fight. But if she wasn’t focused, and swift, and deadly, then all of their lives could be in danger.

Involuntarily, Lexa remembered holding Costia in her arms as she bled out all those years ago. She had screamed for the medic until her voice was hoarse, and had tried to cover the wound on Costia’s neck with her hands, but it was no use. Had Lexa been distracted then too? Had she allowed her feelings for Costia to make her so anxious to save her during that ground attack in Iraq that she ended up losing her instead?

Lexa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time she had been surprised by the memory of Costia, and it wouldn’t be the last. Part of her was afraid that she would never be able to forget that terrible night… and part of her was afraid that she would.

With the last of the Marines from the smoke pit and latrines crossing the road back to the briefing tent, Lexa composed herself as much as she could and followed them. She didn’t know what this all meant for her and Clarke. But she did know there wasn’t enough time to figure it out right now.

Back in the briefing tent, Lexa took one of the few remaining seats near the back. Immediately, Blake plopped down in the seat next to her. They both stared straight ahead.

After the talk with GySgt Anya, Lexa wasn’t in the mood to deal with Blake’s games. Several seconds passed, before Lexa cleared her throat. “Blake.”

The Lance Corporal still didn’t look at her. “Sergeant.”

Considering Blake had never made an attempt to spend time with her before, she knew that Blake wanted something, and the sooner she got it over with, the better. “You’re sitting next to me. Why?”

And with that, Blake finally turned toward Lexa and stared at her intensely. “Well I was actually wondering something, and I think you may be able to impart some of your sergeant life knowledge--”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Spit it out, Blake.”

“It’s about that hot blonde Air Force chick you were banging--”

“Keep it down!” Lexa hissed, unconsciously looking around them to see if anyone had heard, and eagerly hoping that the Staff Sergeant giving them their briefing would hurry up and come back already. “This is not something I want to discuss, especially with 100 horny male Marines around us.” 

“I’ll be brief, don’t worry,” Blake assured, but with a small grin. “So you and the blonde bombshell… what is happening with that? Are you guys going steady? Or are you planning on chasing some fresh meat out here? Not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s a lot of meat around here.” Blake shot a long look at the crotch of the male Marine sitting on the other side of Lexa. 

This conversation proved to Lexa that there was no justice in the world, at least not for Marines. “I don’t see how any of this is your business, _Lance Corporal_.” She emphasized the rank, hoping that would make Blake see that she was overstepping her bounds.

“Technically, it’s not my business,” Blake admitted, “but I may have heard a thing or two last night. That dorm has some thin walls…”

Lexa’s face slipped back into its impassive mask. “It sounded like there was some activity next door as well.”

“That’s my point,” Blake said fervently, leaning in closer. “We’ve both done things and people that we weren’t supposed to, and we both have dirt on each other. But speaking realistically, you as an NCO have a bit more to lose than I do…” 

“Are you seriously trying to blackmail me right now?” Lexa’s glare was fiery, her mask long gone. “You know as well as I do that we have more important things to worry about out here. Not to mention that Nyko already saw you groping Raven under the chow hall table a few days ago, so the cat is already out of the bag for you…”

“Cool it, Sergeant, I was just joking around,” Blake muttered, obviously deflated after hearing about Nyko. “But in all seriousness, I’ve been meaning to ask you… how do you have a long distance… thing with someone when basically all you’ve been doing with them up to this point is sex?” She glanced over at Lexa, worried. “Hypothetically speaking.”

At that moment, Lexa’s realized that Blake was actually quite desperate. “Long distance ‘thing,’ Blake? Do you mean the r-word?” 

“Rectum?” Blake said worriedly.

Rolling her eyes, Lexa tried not to completely lose her patience. “The other r-word.”

“Ravioli?!” Blake’s eyes lit up for a moment, until her face dropped. “God, I’m hungry. When are these briefings over? Or are they going to make us eat MREs again?”

Lexa tried to scrounge up the last bit of patience that she had. “If Raven’s really that important to you, then you have to tell her that. I’m sure you already have her phone number, and that you’ve been sexting each other for weeks.” She looked over, and Blake was suddenly hanging on her every word. “But instead of telling her what you’re wearing, or how wet you are, tell her how your day has been, or ask about her’s. You know, talk.”

Blake seemed to ponder Lexa’s words for a while, but then she scoffed, laughing at her haughtily. “You’re a big fucking softie. Sergeant. But since when has talking ever solved problems? We’re in the fucking Marine Corps--our method of problem-solving involves a lot more bullets than talking.”

“I don’t think bullets will work in this situation,” Lexa said dryly. 

“Maybe not, but it looks like there’s no other solution. I’ll probably have to go back and shoot her,” Blake declared seriously. “There’s no other solution.”

“How is traveling back to Kandahar and shooting your girlfriend an easier solution than picking up your phone and calling her?”

“Girlfriend, eww.” Blake pretended to dry-heave. “We’re just fuck buddies. Obviously.”

“Obviously. And that’s why you’re so worried about her forgetting about you,” Lexa dry-panned. 

“As if she could ever forget about me, the way she was crying out for the past week and a half. She probably knows my name better than her own by now.” 

“Please stop talking, Blake.” 

“What?” The Lance Corporal asked innocently. “Just because we got down to business a lot faster than you and blonde hottie.”

Gratefully, the Staff Sergeant chose that moment to reappear with a stack of forms and started handing them out to all of the rows. “Shut the fuck up, Marines,” he barked. “You have one minute to fill out this form for the battalion. After that, you’ll report to your work stations. One squad has field day, and the other is on patrol, you lucky bastards.”

All of the Marines groaned, exchanging tired looks. 

The Sergeant’s expression darkened. “And if you don’t shut up and fill out that form, the rest of you will be cleaning latrines!” 

Lexa heard scattered rumbles of dissent, but most of the Marines were busy filling out the form and had already accepted the fact that their lives belonged to the Marine Corps. Being put to work on day one was nothing new. Glancing over to Anya, Lexa hoped that their squad was the one going on patrol. She needed to clear her head, and having her life put in danger was the best way to do it.

 

**********

They had gone all day without any reports of serious injuries needing evacuation around Afghanistan, for which Clarke was grateful. It had allowed she and Raven to watch four unbroken hours of Gilmore Girls and cover themselves with crumbs from their food conquests. But as the day wore on, they found themselves heading out to the smoke pit that was perched on top of a relatively-secure wooden structure adjacent to the squadron’s morale tent. They climbed the short ladder to the top of the platform and found Lt Bellamy there, sitting on a metal chair and facing the flight line. 

“Hey LT,” Raven greeted casually, until she saw the knife in his hand. She held both of her hands to the side in a mock non-threatening gesture. “Do you welcome everyone to the smoke pit with sharp objects? Because that’s probably why you’re sitting here by yourself.”

“It’s called whittling, Reyes.” Bellamy turned his chair around to face them and the rest of the smoke pit. He held a large chunk of basswood that had several long slices taken out of it, but otherwise showed no hint of what it would eventually become.

“Doesn’t look like much to me,” Raven said, taking a seat across the table from Bellamy.

Clarke, sitting in the chair beside her, slapped Raven’s leg. “Reyes, chill. You shouldn’t be mean to someone who’s holding a knife less than an arm length away from you.”

“Damn right,” Bellamy agreed, earning a glare from Raven. “What’s up with you? You’ve been grumpy ever since our briefing this morning. Or is it your time of the month?”

Raven raised her chin defiantly. “That’s a brilliant deduction, Lieutenant. Let’s blame a woman’s entirely justifiable opinion that your whittling looks like shit on her menstrual cycle, so that you can maintain your fragile male ego.”

“You’re right, Reyes,” Bellamy said while slamming the wood and knife onto the table. “I should have just called you out for being a bitch 

Clarke held her hands up between the two. “Ooookaaay. I think it’s time Reyes and I took a little break.”

“Don’t bother, Griffin.” Raven was already out of her chair and halfway down the ladder from the smoke pit. “You and the LT can have a nice chat without me. Just don’t touch his wood, no matter what he tells you.”

Bellamy muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking enlisted,” but Clarke chose not to comment on it. While Raven and Bellamy had never been close, today’s conversation had been more militant than usual. 

“Sorry about Reyes,” Clarke said, looking out onto a C-130 taxiing on the flight line. “She’s having a bad day… and mine’s not going so great either.” 

Bellamy had already picked up the basswood chunk and his knife and started whittling again, removing long strips of wood with every pass. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Despite herself, Clarke took out her cell phone from her flight suit pocket and checked it again. No messages or missed calls. She knew that it would probably take Lexa a few hours to fly out to Camp Bastion, but she honestly figured she would have heard from her by now. 

“Here.” Bellamy had placed a box of cheap cigars on the table and was holding one out to Clarke. “They taste like a combination of stale wine and feet, but I find they help me take my mind off things.”

Clarke took the cigar tentatively, as well as the lighter that Bellamy had slid across the table to her. With her medical background, Clarke was not and would never be a smoker. But what did she have to lose today? Especially considering they had three more hours of their standby shift left.

Once she had it lit, Clarke brought the cigar up to her mouth and inhaled deeply. She immediately erupted into a coughing fit that set Bellamy laughing. 

“Come on, Griffin, you’re making me think this is your first cigar. Just hold the smoke in your mouth. Don’t inhale like a cigarette.”

After Clarke had recovered, she tried taking another puff of the cigar and seemingly succeeded. She blew the smoke out of her mouth, and it swirled around them before disappearing in a gust of wind from the flight line. “I see what you mean about stale wine… And I think I’m tasting asparagus? That doesn’t seem normal.”

“Definitely not!” Bellamy laughed, whittling away and sparing Clarke a glance. “I keep trying all of the cheap cigars around here and expect that I’ll find one someday that tastes like a full-course steak dinner. But I haven’t found it yet.” 

“Count me out of that fool’s quest.” Clarke smacked her lips after another puff, disgust etched across her face. “I don’t even think I’ll be able to get through this one, let alone all of the disgusting cigars of Kandahar.”

“Your loss, Princess. But no worries, I’ll smoke it if you don’t want to. I’ve got nothing but time out here.”

“About that,” Clarke said, placing the cigar in an ashtray on the table and sliding it over to Bellamy. “Don’t you have some admin work to do? Or studying? Or… something? What do lieutenants do exactly?”

Bellamy evidently found a knot in the wood, because he had to use shorter, harder strokes to whittle it away. “Lieutenants take their jobs very seriously. Our number one responsibility is bullshitting. Number two, procrastination. Number three, shirking work and blaming someone else for it. Number four, at least for today, is whittling.”

“How do you get away with that?” Clarke asked with a smile. “Tell me your secrets.”

“What I’ve heard is that the First Lieutenant is very similar to the Senior Airman of the enlisted world. Maximum pay with minimal responsibility. After this, it’s all downhill. Becoming captain is the worst pay raise anyone could ever get. Major? Forget about it. You’re in charge of hundreds of idiots by that point, and getting blamed for all of their fuck-ups. No, for now, I’m more than happy to be sitting on this chair, carving a piece of wood.”

“But Major Kane seems to think pretty highly of you still,” Clarke pointed out, putting her feet up on the table.

“Yeah well, he’s been in long enough that he’s forgotten what it’s like to be a lieutenant. All he sees in me is that I’m young, in-shape, and a great pilot. He’s either reminiscing about being a lieutenant himself or falling in love with me.”

“Does he praise you for your humility as well?” Clarke asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bellamy shot her a look but kept whittling. “All I know is that I graduated college three years ago, and I’m not sure if I fit in better there or in the Air Force. Some days I love it out here, and I always love the feeling of flying, but sometimes I can’t believe that I’m actually doing this. Living in Afghanistan. Flying missions in a warzone. Getting shot at during takeoffs and landings. Whittling dicks out of a piece of wood.”

“Wait, what?” Clarke stared at him for a moment, before bursting out laughing. “Is that seriously what you’re doing?”

Bellamy ignored her. “The fabled lieutenant, torn between two worlds: the world of college fuckery, and the world of military duty.”

Clarke just shook her head, leaning over the table and taking back the cigar. She gave it another small puff. It still tasted like asparagus, but it could almost be like asparagus sauteed in butter and herbs, if she used enough of her imagination. Across from her, Bellamy just kept whittling. 

Clarke thought about finding Raven wherever she had run off to before, but decided against it. After working with her for over two years and being her friend for a good portion of that, Clarke knew that Raven just needed some time to decompress. Still, she was surprised at how strongly Octavia’s departure was affecting her. From what Clarke had seen, Raven and Octavia’s… relationship had been strictly physical. But Clarke was beginning to question that assumption.

Thinking of Octavia invariably led Clarke to think about Lexa. She fought the urge to check her phone again. She wanted nothing more than to text Lexa, but she knew that it wouldn’t make Lexa able to respond any faster. Lexa would contact her when she was able to. She would. 

 

**********

 

As it turned out, they had to put watching Gilmore Girls, smoking cigars, and generally feeling sorry for themselves on hold to go fly a mission: the result of a nasty firefight between Taliban and a squad of Marines in a remote valley in Uruzgan province, north of Kandahar. But despite the stress that always accompanied these missions--stepping to the plane, taking off, and loading patients at the FOB as quickly as possible; ensuring the patients’ health during the flight; and transferring them into the hospital once they had returned to Kandahar--Clarke had to admit that it was nice to redirect her mind to matters other than missing Lexa. And Clarke was grateful for a mission where everything went as briefed. She wouldn’t be having nightmares about this mission like the one the day. 

After a short mission debrief, where Maj. Kane had little to say to the crew besides some pilot jargon to 1Lt Bellamy about his approach, Clarke cautiously sidled up to Raven and bumped her shoulder softly. “You still want to go run our guts out at the gym?” 

They walked out of the briefing tent into the evening air that was luckily beginning to cool off after the unbearable heat of the day. Raven stopped and turned toward Clarke. “Listen, Griffin, sorry about freaking out earlier. But Bellamy was being an asshat.” 

Clarke smiled lopsidedly at her. “You may have been an asshat first.”

“I will never admit to that, and you know it.” But the semi-bashful look on Raven’s face was enough of an apology. “I’m down for the gym, but did you hear what Jasper was saying earlier? He said he, Monty, and Wells had something for us… and I’m not afraid of much in life, but that scares me.”

Right on cue, the three men came bursting out of the morale tent with one arm bent in front of them and one behind their backs, like butlers. 

“Good evening, Madams,” Jasper said airily in his best fake British accent that made Raven cringe. “Prepare yourselves for a night of wonders, specially crafted by yours truly.”

“And yours truly,” Monty chimed in, his fake British accent surprisingly authentic. Clarke wondered why he wasn’t in charge of whatever dramatic announcement Jasper was trying to make, but she wasn’t surprised--Jasper usually took control of these sorts of games.

“Dear Lord…” Raven groaned, making to escape, but Jasper and Monty ganged up on either side of her, grabbed her by the elbows, and began pulling her toward the morale tent door. Wells just stood on the side, trying very hard not to laugh.

“I’m afraid resistance is futile, my dear,” Jasper declared, even while apparently struggling to pull Raven along. “Damn it, Reyes,” he said, fake accent gone, “We’re just trying to do something nice for you...” 

Clarke was following along behind them, cackling the whole way. But when they all stepped through the tent door, her laughter trailed off.

Evidently, Jasper, Monty, and Wells had cleaned the morale tent at some point that day--not a small feat in and of itself-- and arranged the various book shelves, tables, and chairs all around the couch and TV in some kind of entertainment shrine. But the most shocking of all was that all of the furniture encircling the couch and TV were covered in lit candles. Raven coughed slightly at the smoke, while managing to free her elbows from the grips of Jasper and Monty. 

Clarke cleared her throat. “This is all very romantic and all, guys….”

“No! Just wait!” Monty pulled the TV remote from his pocket and pressed a button. The TV came on with the DVD title screen for The Notebook. He smiled wanly at Clarke and Raven. “Sergeant Jasper and I noticed that you guys were feeling a bit down, so we came up with-”

“An ingenious way to have you forget the old, long-lost feelings of yesteryear and welcome in a new era of romance,” Jasper said confidently, getting half-way to putting an arm around Raven’s shoulders before she literally growled at him.

“What he’s trying to say is,” Monty continued, accent still in full swing as he re-positioned his arms into his butler pose, “We are here at your disposal if you’d like to expel those feelings of heartbreak through hot tears fueled by one of the greatest cinematic treasures of our time. And we will be here for your emotional comfort, of course.” 

Wells lost his composure at this point and had to cover his laughter as best he could with his hand.

“Wells, you traitor,” Jasper hissed at the Airman, before falling back into character. “Like Monty was saying, emotional comfort. A shoulder to cry on… Cuddling, mayhap. And making out?” 

Raven just cocked her head, and the glimmer of hope on Jasper’s face disappeared. 

Clarke exchanged a long look with Raven, as Wells just laughed all the harder. “Well, this has been fun, guys.”

“Really fun,” Raven said sarcastically.

“But I think we’ll have to watch The Notebook and cry on you another time.”

Monty just stood up straighter. “Of course, madams. We are at your disposal, always. Or until Sergeant Jasper decides he should choose new female targets.”

“Wooooah, not in the script, dude!” Jasper shot his friend a harsh look.

Clarke and Raven took that as their chance to leave, as Jasper and Monty entered into what appeared to be a heated argument.

Wells patted Jasper and Monty on the back. “Excellent work, heroes,” he said in a respectable British accent. “You’ve ruined your chances with those women for all time.”

That just set off Jasper even more, as he tried to direct his wrath at Monty and Wells simultaneously.

“Well, that was batshit crazy,” Raven said wide-eyed as they emerged from the candle-lit morale tent into the dusty Kandahar air. 

“What else is new,” Clarke muttered. “Gym?”

“Hell yeah. But seriously, The Notebook?! What were they thinking...”

 

**********

 

Most of the other Marines in her tent had already left in full battle rattle, body armor covered with pouches full of extra ammo and supplies that they would need for their patrol that evening. Lexa was just slinging her rifle over her shoulder to join them, when she remembered that her cell phone was still in her pocket. She took it out and held it in her palm, staring at it. 

“Briefing from the Commander in 15, Sergeant,” Corporal Lincoln reminded her as he hurried past her cot out of the tent.

“Roger that,” Lexa replied automatically, even as she continued staring at her phone.

She owed it to Clarke to tell her that she made it safely to Camp Bastion. She wanted to tell her how much worse it was out there than Kandahar, with drab brown tents on drab brown sand surrounded by drab concrete walls and barbed wire. She wanted to tell her what Gunny Anya had told her. She wanted to hear Clarke’s voice and make her laugh. She wanted to tell her that she missed her. 

She wanted so many things. 

“Sergeant Carey!” 1Lt Indra’s commanding voice carried through the tent. “Hurry up--or do you usually make the entire squad wait on you?”

Lexa tucked her phone under her pillow at the head of the cot and let out the breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. 

Maybe it was better this way.


	11. Pure Pwnage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa does Marine things and decides to be less of an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do homework when I can write this instead? #AdultLifeDecisions  
> I may have gone a little overboard with the patrol scene, but it was a lot of fun to write and no regrets.
> 
> You may have noticed that the chapter count mysteriously increased to 15. There's just a lot more things to say, ya know? 
> 
> As always, I'm overwhelmed by the response to this story and love reading your comments! I hope you enjoy :D

Lexa untied her tennis shoes in the dim light cast by the single bulb still lit in the far corner of the tent. She had pulled rank when they had first arrived at Camp Bastion and gotten one of the privates to move his gear off of the bed she had chosen for herself, which was situated in the middle of the tent. It meant that she was surrounded by the sound of obnoxious snoring during the night, but she was also far from the glaringly-bright lights at either end of the tent and the doors that slammed shut when people were too tired to remember to close them softly. The middle of the tent was as much of a luxury as one could hope for out here. Especially with 60 people sleeping in the same tent, it was important to take whatever advantage you possibly could to get a good night’s sleep.

 

Some of the other Marines in the tent were also turning in--they all had an early mission in the morning, and nothing was worse than not getting enough sleep the night before a patrol. But with rocket attacks occurring nearly every night, and scattered gunshots near base a few times per week, Lexa didn’t delude herself that she would ever get an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep until she shipped home. It could always be worse, though--she knew that there were Marines out there who were literally sleeping in holes in the ground. She was grateful for the slightly moldy pad on her cot, and the thin pillow that had all of its stuffing pushed to one side, and the sputtering AC that sounded like it would die at any moment. Yes, things could always be worse.

 

Wearing PT gear, Lexa tucked her body under the thin sheets and scratchy wool blanket to escape the arctic blast that was currently blowing from the air conditioning unit. She estimated that the tent was a comfortable temperature for probably an hour total during the day, and every other moment it was either freezing cold or hot enough to make sweat run down her back.

 

She reached under her bed and pulled out the book that she had borrowed from the surprisingly large library in the rec tent earlier that day. Books were a common item in care packages from family members and other concerned citizens, which guaranteed an eclectic collection: John Grisham, a handful of romance novels, stacks upon stacks of Bibles, and, luckily for Lexa, a single, well-worn copy of “Of Mice and Men.” She remembered having to read it in high school and wondered if she would like it any more now. In any case, it had to be better than book # 74 by Nora Roberts.

 

Lexa got exactly three sentences into the book, before she felt her mind wandering to Kandahar, but she knew better than to let her thoughts return to her time there. She squinted her eyes and tried to focus harder on the page in front of her.

 

Right on cue, Lexa’s cell phone buzzed in her PT shorts. She had only given her number to 1Lt Indra, GySgt Anya, and…

 

Slamming the book shut and placing it by her side, Lexa tried to remind herself how unexcited she was about the text. When she removed her cell phone from her pocket, she saw that her screen had lit up, showing that Clarke had texted her.

 

Of course Clarke had texted her. She had been texting her all week.

 

It had taken Clarke a few days to resume texting her after Lexa had left Kandahar. Clarke had probably put herself through all kinds of mental anguish: wondering if Lexa had arrived safely, if maybe she had lost her phone, or if something horrible had happened to her. Clarke would have complained to Raven, who would have said something snarky but ultimately supportive that would have encouraged Clarke not to give up.

 

Not that Lexa had been thinking about this. Not at all. She had decided that it was better for everyone, especially for the Marines in her squad, if she didn’t think about Clarke.

 

Which is why Lexa knew that she shouldn’t open the text. She should delete it or change her number or ditch her phone altogether, because really, who needed a cell phone in Afghanistan, anyway?

 

But Lexa had done none of those things. Day in and day out, she had looked forward to Clarke’s texts, smiled when she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, because she knew exactly who it was from. And every time, Lexa moved to reply to Clarke’s text, and sometimes even typed out a response before deleting it.

 

She knew this wasn’t what she had imagined when she decided to stop communicating with Clarke. In her mind, Clarke should have lost hope after a few unanswered texts and stopped making an effort, which would have let their… relationship fade away into the dust and smoke of Afghanistan. But it had already been two weeks since Lexa had left Kandahar, and it seemed that Clarke had no intention of giving up.

 

The texts were simple, usually just chronicling an Airman going about her daily life in Kandahar. But as much as Lexa didn’t want to admit it, she lived for these texts.

 

 **Clarke, 2137, 06/24/2011** : Back at Green Bean getting my caffeine fix. No rocket attacks this time. Also no bunker seduction :(

 

 **Clarke, 0712, 06/25/2011** : Saw a gang of children racing camels on the other side of the base fence on my way to work today. There’s hope for this country after all.

 

 **Clarke, 2055, 06/25/2011** : Jasper made me eat a quadruple patty burger for dinner in exchange for him never hogging the morale tent TV with Korean soap dramas. Worth it??

 

Evidently, Clarke had discovered that her cheap cell phone had a camera on it a few days ago. Most of the messages had attached photos now.

 

 **Clarke, 0733, 06/27/2011** : My face! In case you’ve forgotten what it looks like

 

The photo Clarke attached was of one cheek and her ear, with a tuft of blonde hair sticking out.

 

 **Clarke, 0735, 06/27/2011** : Still figuring this camera thing out. It’s not front-facing, OK? And now I know I need to fix my hair.

 

The next photo was slightly better, at least managing to capture one of her eyes as well.

 

 **Clarke, 0738, 06/27/2011** : There! Selfies in full force. Watch out, Afghanistan.

 

Lexa knew that she shouldn’t care this much about hearing from Clarke, but the Airman’s texts had become part of her daily routine. Usually, Clarke would message her sometime before or during work, and then once more during the evening. It was something that Lexa could depend on to make her smile. She was trying to suppress the thought that she had been waiting to go to bed until Clarke had texted her. After a moment’s hesitation, Lexa opened the new text.

 

It was a photo of Raven at the chow hall in Kandahar, with a plate of food in front of her. A shockingly tall column of mashed potatoes rose from the plate, and two long rows of corn kernels branched out from it.

 

 **Clarke, 2015** : They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!!

 

Lexa snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. “You’re such a dork, Clarke” she said aloud to herself. She would never admit understanding a Lord of the Rings reference to Clarke, or anyone else for that matter.

 

“So Clarke’s the dork in the relationship? Does that mean you’re the cool one? Hard to believe... “ Blake had been walking past Lexa’s cot at that moment, shower caddy and towel in hand. “You’re still talking to her, huh?”

 

Lexa was caught off guard and took a moment to recover, glaring slightly at Blake. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now? We have an early start tomorrow.”

 

Blake flicked her head, which sent her pony tail falling across her shoulder. “Yeah well, you know, I have a hot phone sex date with Raven. I don’t want to deny a girl what she wants. That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

 

Lexa rolled her eyes as she laid back in her cot and turned away from Blake. “I don’t know why you insist on telling me these things. I don’t care what you do, as long as you get enough rest for our mission tomorrow.”

 

“Grumpy Sergeant,” Blake said, scrunching her face at Lexa’s back. “Sounds like you could use a phone sex date with the hot blonde…”

 

Lexa didn’t rise to the bait. “Goodnight, Lance Corporal.”

 

“You know I’m right, Sergeant!” Blake said in a sing-song voice as she walked down the aisle between cots away from Lexa.

 

After a few minutes, Lexa brought out her phone again and smiled at Clarke’s photo of the mashed potato tower. Blake didn’t know what she was talking about, of course. Lexa had this under control. She was focused on work (mostly) and doing what was best for the safety of her and her squad. But as she scrolled through the other messages and photos from Clarke, Lexa felt a dull pain in the pit of her stomach. She was doing the right thing, she knew it. But why did doing the right thing hurt so much?

 

**********

 

“Can I eat my fucking mashed potatoes now?”

 

Raven had been a good sport and posed cheerfully with her chow hall art for the first couple of photos that Clarke had taken, but after the third photo that Clarke insisted she take “to make sure it was perfect,” Raven had had enough.

 

“I’m all about watching you suffer while lusting after some Marine who refuses to talk to you,” Raven continued, “but not when it means that I have to suffer by not eating my dinner.”

 

Clarke grimaced at the photo she had just taken of the mashed potatoes, but it was still the best of the five that she had taken. “That’ll have to work, I guess.” She finally looked up from her phone and laughed. “You know, if you were really that hungry, you think you wouldn’t have wasted ten minutes making potato and corn art.”

 

“Hey,” Raven protested in mock offense,” just because we’re deployed doesn’t mean we’re barbarians who can’t appreciate the finer things in life. Art, music, fine wine made by Jasper…”

 

Jasper, sitting a few people down the table, heard his name and nodded in acknowledgement. “Just don’t say that too loud, Reyes. I’ve got a reputation to upkeep for being a decent NCO.”

 

Raven scoffed at him. “Sorry, Jasper, secret’s already out. Some guys from another squadron already asked me what your wine setup is like.”

 

“And you told them?!” Jasper whispered fiercely past the two people that sat between him and Raven.

 

“It was for a good cause! No squadron should be without moonshine.” Raven insisted.

 

Abruptly, Jasper pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “I’ve um… got to go take care of something.”

 

He walked away briskly from the table, muttering under his breath. When he was out of earshot, Raven started cackling and shoving mashed potatoes into her mouth.

 

Clarke looked at her sideways. “There was no other aircrew asking about his wine setup, was there?”

 

“Definitely not!” Raven said with her mouth full of food. “And I would never endanger my supply of deployment booze, let me tell you”

 

“Making Jasper paranoid about getting caught might do just that,” Clarke reasoned as she watched Jasper nearly push over a soldier in his haste to get out of the chow hall and check on his wine back at the squadron.

 

Raven pulled her phone out of her flight suit pocket and said distractedly, “I’m not too worried about it, Griffin.” She took a moment to read whatever was on her phone, then beamed up at Clarke. “Well, got to go!”

 

Clarke looked at Raven’s plate full of food. “What? You were just saying how hungry you were.”

 

“Priorities, Griffin,” Raven said, winking, as she picked up her tray and reached over to grab the tray that Jasper had left behind as well. “You try to flirt by sending texts and photos, but I have… other methods.”

 

“Do I want to know?” Clarke asked, grimacing.

 

“I’ll give you a play-by-play later whether you want it or not, don’t worry.” Raven wagged her eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Can’t wait,” Clarke groaned.

 

With Raven and Jasper gone, Clarke half-heartedly ate a few more mouthfuls of food while looking through the messages that she had sent Lexa in the past few days. She had been racking her brain for explanations on why Lexa hadn’t replied. Was Camp Bastion more dangerous than she had thought? Was Lexa so busy that she couldn’t even take a moment to send Clarke a message saying that she was safe? Clarke doubted it. Maybe there wasn’t cell coverage that far west, but even then, Lexa should have emailed her to tell her that she was alright… Unless Camp Bastion didn’t have internet either? Clarke frowned to herself. Bastion had several thousand people, had been established for nearly a decade, and was a major hub of operations in Helmand province. Of course it had internet.

 

So why hadn’t Lexa called or texted?

 

Lexa had been the one to flirt with her, and pursue her, and tell her how worried she was about her safety and how much she cared about her… But all of those things were in stark contrast to the current situation: Lexa was seemingly ignoring her.

 

Clarke shoved her phone back into her flight suit pocket and scowled at her plate of half-eaten beef stew. She may not know what was motivating Lexa, but she knew what was in her own mind. Her own heart. She felt like she could trust Lexa, tell her anything, could share her thoughts and missions and struggles with her, and that she would understand. If Lexa was still reading these messages of hers, Clarke would still send them. She couldn’t imagine what Lexa was going through out there, never knowing who was friend or foe while on patrol and not even feeling safe when she was on base. So if Clarke could give Lexa one moment of light, one happy memory, one reminder that this war wasn’t everything, she would do it.

 

It’s not the way that Clarke had imagined it. But she would do it. For Lexa.

 

**********

 

Lexa’s eyes never stopped moving. Three compounds bunched together to the north and east, one more distant, dilapidated compound to the west that looked like it had been abandoned for some time. A stand of browning trees behind the compounds indicated a creek that was most likely dry this time of year. She could hear men talking to each other in the nearest compound, as well as the sound of bleating goats. Behind her and the Afghan soldier to her right, a line of 12 Marines and soldiers spread out in a long line, none of the pairs too close to each other to be an inviting target for an RPG or spray of machine gun fire.

 

There had been no surprises so far on their patrol, for which Lexa was grateful. Their convoy had made its slow progress from Camp Bastion southeast to the city of Lashkar Gah, scanning all the while for IEDs and roadside bombs. Overhead, they knew that an MQ-9 Reaper UAV was also searching for any disturbed earth alongside the road that could be caused by the recent burial of an IED. It had taken the Marine humvees over an hour on the unpaved road to reach this grouping of compounds on the edge of Lashkar Gah, where they would be doing their best to accomplish their mission of capturing the “hearts and minds” of the Afghan people.

 

Lexa snickered just thinking about it. Hearts and minds. Right.

 

She and the Afghan soldier next to her, Staff Sergeant Yusuf, approached the closed gate of the compound--compound 16, according to their tactical map. Yusuf looked over to Lexa questioningly. “ _Should I knock now or wait for the others to get closer?_ ” he asked her in Dari.

 

The Afghans preferred dealing with her, since she had a rudimentary understanding of their language. At first, the men had turned bright red and smirked to each other whenever they spoke to her, as if it were some great taboo to be speaking to a Western woman, but they had eventually become accustomed to dealing with her as if she were one of the male Marines.

 

 _“Knock now,_ ” Lexa replied, waving the Afghan translator forward from the middle of the pack of Marines and soldiers. He hurried forward and waited for Lexa’s instructions. “OK Nowroz, same thing as before. Let’s try to get access to the compound so we can ask them a few questions. _"_

 

The translator Nowroz nodded and waited for SSgt Yusuf to finish knocking loudly on the compound door with the butt of his rifle before yelling in Dari. Lexa couldn’t understand everything, but she got the gist of it. “ _Peace be with you! We are with the Afghan National Army and US Marine Corps and would like to ask you some questions about your lives. We will not harm you in any way._ ”

 

Lexa heard hushed voices from the other side of the wooden gate. Behind her, LCpl Blake yawned loudly, and Lexa looked back at her and motioned for her to keep it down. Blake just shrugged, the radio and antennas in her backpack jingling in the process. At least Cpl Lincoln was still taking this seriously and continued his scan of the nearby compounds, encouraging his Afghan partner to do the same. LCpl Nyko, their squad’s medic, kept on eye on their humvees that were parked further down the road at the crossroads that led them to this set of compounds. The Marine Corps had learned long ago that one of the easiest ways to spook residents was to drive their vehicles directly to their compounds, so despite the greater risk of having to complete the journey on foot, they were required to park the humvees some distance away from their final destination.

 

A few minutes later, right before Lexa was going to order SSgt Yusuf to knock again and escalate their demands to talk to the people inside the compound, the wooden door lurched open to reveal an older Afghan man with a full beard and a younger man in his 20’s by his side. A few more men and some women and children watched them apprehensively from inside the main mud building in the middle of the compound.

 

“ _Peace be with you,_ ” the older man said quietly to SSgt Yusuf and Nowroz, sparing a long glance for the rifle that Lexa held in front of her, as well as the other Marines and soldiers behind her. “ _We have done nothing wrong and only want to be left alone._ ”

 

“ _Don’t worry,_ ” the translator soothed, “ _we are only here to talk. May we come in? As you know, it is dangerous outside._ ”

 

The younger man began to protest, but the older man held up hand. “ _Of course, tell them to come in and we will offer you tea and get to know each other._ ”

 

Lexa released the breath she had been holding. Not all of their requests to enter compounds and speak with the inhabitants went as smoothly. The younger man was glaring at her and the other Marines, but she wasn’t surprised--the younger generation was often angry with them. She imagined it came from knowing nothing but war for the majority of their lives and blaming it on the foreign troops that were occupying their country. While the older generation had seen regimes come and go and tended to be more conciliatory, the young were often more impassioned against foreigners. Lexa couldn’t say that she blamed them, but it was an irritating and sometimes dangerous part of their missions.

 

After Lexa motioned the rest of her squad forward, the Marines and soldiers began streaming in through the front gate and positioning themselves around the dusty yard, quietly checking for any other people or evidence of illegal activity. She called Cpl Lincoln over to her, and he jogged over, his body armor and various attachments clanking in the process. “Lincoln, can you accompany Staff Sergeant Yusuf and Nowroz while they talk with the men? And try not to glare too much.”

 

“Aye, Sergeant,” Lincoln said, frowning slightly. “But you know that I can’t tell a single thing they’re saying, right?”

 

“It’s fine, just look friendly and smile and drink the tea that they give you,” Lexa advised. “I would go with them, but Afghan men are never fond of speaking with foreign women.”

 

“Yeah, that guy just about had a heart attack when you spoke to him in Dari last week,” Lincoln laughed, repositioning his rifle next to his side. “Just don’t leave me in there for too long.”

 

“Fifteen minutes, tops.”

 

Lincoln sighed, but walked over to the building where the residents, translator, and SSgt Yusuf had gathered. They gave Lincoln a glass of tea, and he glared back at Lexa. Tea time with Afghans was probably not what he thought he had signed up for with the Marine Corps.

 

After about ten minutes of directing the Marines around the compound and trying her best to keep the somewhat-oblivious Afghan soldiers away from the open gate, where they would be easy targets for any snipers outside of the compound, Lexa removed her helmet, strapped it onto her body armor, and stepped into the main building to join Lincoln and the others. They were all sitting on basic wooden chairs in a circle, and Lincoln was staring dejectedly into his cup of tea. When he saw Lexa coming in, he sat up straighter and put on his best fake smile that Lexa was sure would scare the Afghans more than it would put them at ease.

 

The translator Nowroz gestured at Lexa when she came in through the doorway. “ _Here is Sergeant Carey, the leader of this squad._ ”

 

The older Afghan man nodded respectfully at her, but the younger man just glared. The tea and conversation had done nothing to reduce his antagonism, it appeared.

 

“ _Peace be with you,_ ” Lexa said to them in Dari, which caused their eyes to go wide. “ _May I speak to the women of the house? I have a few questions for them._ ”

 

The young man burst out in an angry rant to the older man, but it was too fast for Lexa to understand. After a few moments, the older man seemed to have had enough and held up his hand, which shut up the other man immediately. “ _Do not disrespect our guests again,_ ” the older man said with finality.

 

The younger man, fire in his eyes, said nothing more but burst out of the room angrily, bumping into Lincoln on his way out. Lincoln looked to Lexa for orders, but Lexa just shook her head once. So much for winning hearts and minds.

 

“ _He is very hot-headed,_ ” the older man said in way of apology. “ _The women are down the hallway. You may speak with them if you choose._ ”

 

Lexa nodded her thanks before walking down the hallway alone. As she approached, the chatter of voices down the hallway quieted to worried whispers. She positioned her weapon behind her body in an attempt to look less intimidating, but she knew that it would do little to mitigate the effect of her uniform, body armor, and the multiple magazines and knives strapped to her body.

 

The three women were silently sitting around a table in a room containing pots and pans and various other cooking supplies. A gaggle of children ran around the room, laughing to each other and completely unaware of the tension that their mothers felt.

 

“ _Peace be with you,_ ” Lexa began in Dari, smiling at the kids and how much fun they were having. Sometimes it was difficult to think about the unsafe world that these children were having to grow up in. “ _Are these your children? They are very cute._ ”

 

“ _These two are mine,_ ” one of the women said, dark brown hair jutting out from her hijab. “ _They are five and two years old. But I am afraid that they are not safe in Lashkar Gah._ ”

 

“ _That’s what I would like to talk with you about,_ ” Lexa said, taking a step forward.

 

But at that moment, there was the loud crack of gunshots coming from in front of the compound. The children stopped playing their games and looked to their mothers with the most heart-breaking, hopeless expressions that Lexa had ever seen in her life. The women called their children to them and hugged them protectively.

 

“ _Stay inside!_ ” Lexa ordered, trying to forget the lost looks in the children’s eyes, as she strapped her helmet back onto her head. The women made no sound of acknowledgement, but Lexa trusted that they would stay put, not wanting to risk their children’s lives in the firefight that was about to break out.

 

Helmet strap secured around her chin, Lexa took the safety off her rifle and chambered a round. Her movements were mechanical, confident. She didn’t spare another glance at the women and children as she walked briskly back into the main room of the building, where the old man was still sitting on his chair, looking dejected. Crouching near the doorway, the Afghan soldiers and Cpl Lincoln held their rifles at the ready and tried to scan outside from their places of cover.

 

Lexa moved to the other side of the doorway as Lincoln and crouched as well, poking her head past the doorframe. The seven Marines and soldiers outside had taken defensive positions against the wall of the compound. “Did you see what happened, Lincoln?”

 

“No, I was holding my goddamn cup of tea when I heard the gunshots,” Lincoln muttered, obviously disgusted with himself. “Doesn’t look like they got anyone though--”

 

Another burst of gunfire, and dirt in the compound entryway flew up as the bullets contacted the ground. Everyone crouched down even lower and closer to the wall than before, some of the Afghans muttering to themselves. They were pinned down.

 

“It must have been the young guy” Lexa said to herself, thinking. “He went and got some of his friends to attack us. Yusuf, I need you to hold the front gate. Keep everyone as far from the gate as you can, but make sure that no one makes it through.”

 

SSgt Yusuf nodded at her, moving out the doorway and yelling commands at his troops in Dari. Although he technically outranked her, it was clear that Lexa had more experience on-the-ground and was in charge.

 

“Lincoln, you’re with me. Nowroz… just stay out of the way.”

 

The translator looked terrified and stayed huddled against the wall of the building.

 

Lexa took a breath and ran out of the building as fast as she could, Lincoln fast on her heels, and crossed the courtyard in a few moments. By the time she reached Blake, the Lance Corporal already had the radio mic ready for her.

 

“Are we on the platoon freq?” Lexa asked, catching her breath and taking the mic.

 

“Yes, Sergeant.” Blake extended the antenna coming from her backpack to improve the signal.

 

Lexa looked over to Lincoln. “Find us another way out of here. Another door, window, anything. Report back when you’ve got it.” She keyed the mic as Lincoln ran off to comply. “Rage 10, this is Rage 15 actual, over.”

 

After a few tense moments, the radio sputtered to life with a man’s voice. “Go for Rage 10, over.”

 

“15 has contact in compound 16. Source of contact is likely a compound to the south, break.” Lexa took out her map from a pocket on the front of her body armor. “Compound 11, southwest of compound 16, over.”

 

“Rage 10 copies that 15 has contact in compound 16, coming from compound 11. We’ll relay to command. Over.”

 

“That’s a solid copy,” Lexa said, relieved that they weren’t having radio problems that day. “We’ll try to circle around the compound and reach our vehicles, but they’re on the other side of compound 11, over.”

 

There was a longer pause than normal. “Rage 15, Rage 10 actual copies all.” It sounded like GySgt Anya’s voice. “We’ll see what command says, but we’ll probably be coming to rescue you idiots.”

 

Lexa smirked, before she remembered how serious the situation was. “Roger that, Rage 10. Over and out.”

 

Blake took back the mic and tucked it into her backpack, just as Lincoln ran back to them. “Sergeant, there’s a building in the northwest corner right up against the wall with a ladder to the roof.”

 

“Perfect,” Lexa said. “Get out your rope and tie it up from the rooftop over the wall.”

 

As he returned to the back building, Lexa yelled to the Marines and soldiers around her. “We’re leaving from the back! I’ll provide cover fire while you guys run to the building in the northwest corner. Follow Lincoln’s instructions when you get there. And Sergeant Yusuf, don’t forget Nowruz in the main building.”

 

Lexa crouched with her back against the wall, holding her rifle in front of her. In a burst, she twisted her body around and aimed her rifle toward the compound that she suspected the fire came from. She couldn’t see any activity there, so she aimed at the dirt halfway between herself and the compound, firing three shots. She caught a glimpse of movement on the roof of compound 11 as someone took cover, which confirmed her suspicions that the snipers were firing from there.

 

With everyone safely away from the gateway, Lexa returned her body behind cover and followed them to the back of the compound. Over half of the squad was already on the other side of the compound wall, having climbed the rickety wooden ladder onto the roof and dropped outside the compound using the rope.

 

“Rage 15, Rage 10,” the radio on Blake’s back sounded again.

 

Blake held the mic in front of her mouth and keyed the mic. “Go for Rage 15.”

 

“Spectre 50 and 51 are on their way, ETA 20 mikes. Command has decided that we’ll be staying on our current mission, over.”

 

“Roger that,” Blake said, before turning to Lexa. “They’re sending gunships, Sergeant?! That seems like overkill.”

 

Lexa gave her a steady look. “We’ll see if you still think that way when this is all said and done. Up the ladder, Lance Corporal.”

 

Once Blake was up the ladder (not a small feat with the radio equipment) and down the other side of the wall, that only left Lexa to perform the maneuver and try to get back to their vehicles. Lexa climbed the ladder and crouched on the top of the roof, making her way over to the side of the building to scale down the compound wall, but she felt a violent force against the front of her skull. Everything went black.

 

**********

 

“Clarke!” Lexa yelled as her eyes eyes burst open, revealing a dusty blue sky above and nine faces looking worriedly down at her.

 

“Holy shit, Sergeant!” Blake said in awe, “how are you still alive right now?! And did you just yell for the blonde hottie?”

 

Lexa couldn’t find the energy to rebuke her, with the excruciating pain pounding in the front of her skull.

 

“Everyone back up, for God’s sake,” Nyko growled, kneeling down next to Lexa. That finally spurred the others to step back and resume their defensive posture further from him and Lexa. When he unstrapped Lexa’s helmet and looked at her forehead, he let out a low whistle. “That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.”

 

Lexa still felt like the world was spinning around her, which wasn’t a good sign. She ground her teeth in effort. “What are you talking about, Nyko? What happened?”

 

He just showed her the front of her helmet in response. A smooth hole through the desert camouflage covering revealed a bullet-sized dent in the kevlar helmet.

 

“You’re telling me…” Lexa began, still struggling to speak. “You’re telling me that fucker tried to shoot me in the middle of my fucking forehead?”

 

Nyko smiled bleakly at her. “I’m afraid so, Sergeant. And there’s not much I can do for you out here. You probably have a concussion, but we’ll have to get you back to Bastion for any kind of treatment. How do you feel after that fall, though? We caught you the best we could, but it still looked pretty nasty…”

 

“I’ll be OK,” Lexa grimaced, propping herself up onto her elbows. It felt like she had landed mostly on her back, but she was sure she would be feeling it once the adrenaline wore off. She sat up, her head already woozy. “They must have seen what we were doing and repositioned themselves in the other compound.”

 

“That’s exactly what they did,” Lincoln called out to her, positioning his head past the edge of the compound wall to see the other compound across the open stretch of sandy earth. “They’re some cocky fucks, for sure. I might be able to get a shot…”

 

Lexa was on her feet, even though she felt dizzy. “Blake, any word from the gunships?”

 

Blake took her sweet time to reply, instead choosing to continue smirking at her after Lexa had called out for Clarke. Luckily, Blake’s radio came to life with a voice that sounded like it was speaking underwater. “Rage 15, Spectre 50.”

 

Lexa took the mic from Blake, ignoring her smirk. “Go for Rage 15, over.”

 

“Rage 15, we are in orbit around your position at compound 16. Can you confirm where contact is coming from?”

 

“Affirm, we are in compound 16,” Lexa managed to say despite her head feeling like it was full of cotton. “Contact is coming from compound 11, over.”

 

“Roger, compound 11,” the man on the radio repeated. “Are there civilians in the area?”

 

“Civilians in compound 16, but we don’t know about the other compounds, over,” Lexa answered honestly. The presence of civilians could end the airstrike, she knew, but they should be far enough away to not be injured by the gunships opening fire.

 

The radio was silent for a few minutes, before the man’s voice returned. “Spectre 50 is awaiting approval from command.”

 

The Marines around her gave an excited whoop and slapped each other on the backs, but Lexa was too nervous and still too groggy to join them.

 

Nyko handed back her helmet. “You’ll probably want to be wearing this, Sergeant. Saved your life once, after all.”

 

When Lexa placed the heavy helmet back onto her head, it sent another throb of pain through her skull, but she ignored it. After she had it strapped on, the radio sounded again. “Spectre 50 is approved hot. Confirm that you’re at least 100 feet from compound 11?”

 

Lexa looked over to Lincoln, who nodded. “Affirm, Spectre 50, over.”

 

“Spectre 50 is weapons hot, 50 cals.”

 

Less than a minute later, compound 11 erupted in shards of clay and rock and dirt, as 50-caliber bullets rained down from above. Above their heads, the two AC-130 gunships flew in a slow orbit above the compound, with fiery muzzle flashes being the only indication that they were the cause of the mayhem below. The bullets must have hit something explosive in the compound, as a fire broke out and started consuming the remains of the compound.

 

“Rage 15, Spectre 50,” the AC-130 radioman said calmly across the radio, “do you need another pass of weapons fire?”

 

Lexa looked on as the flames spread across the compound. “Negative, Spectre 50. Further fire won’t be necessary. Thanks for your help today. We’ll be marching to our vehicles west of compound 11, over.”

 

“Roger, Rage 15. We’ll provide overwatch until you’re safely on your way.”

 

**********

 

Lexa was sitting on the gurney in the medical tent, swinging her legs slightly back and forth, when a woman with brown hair pulled back into a bun and wearing Marine camis came strolling into the medical room, flipping through papers on a clipboard.

 

“Sergeant Carey… so you got shot in the head, huh? Typical Marine.”

 

That was not the introduction she expected from the medical personnel that she was required to see when she returned to Camp Bastion from her patrol. “Excuse me?”

 

“Still pretty slow in the head, I see,” the woman continued, pursing her lips and writing something on the clipboard paper. “I know Marines aren’t exactly known for their intelligence, but…”

 

Lexa frowned and looked down at the rank on the woman’s collar. Petty Officer First Class. So she was in the Navy. “And I never knew that squids were known for doing an honest day’s work in their lives.”

 

The Navy Petty Officer studied her, tapping her pen against the papers in her hand. Finally, her stormy expression lifted. “I’m Hospital Corpsman First Class Echo. I’ll be the one deciding that you’re fit for duty, so it’s in your best interest to be nice to me. Feisty Marines have a strangely high likelihood of going right back on duty the next day.”

 

Lexa’s head was still pounding, and she was having a hard time concentrating on what HM1 Echo was saying. Her squad had made it back safely to Camp Bastion without incident after the attack from the compound, thank God. Lexa didn’t think that she would have been able to lead the squad effectively through any more high-tempo ops, and she certainly didn’t think that SSgt Yusuf, the highest-ranking Afghan soldier in the squad, would have been capable of making the right decisions. And even without the fogginess that filled her mind, Lexa couldn’t get over the fact that she had yelled Clarke’s name when she had come to after falling from the roof. Clarke, the woman whom Lexa had been trying her best to forget about, whom she was convinced would distract her too much and cause her to make mistakes on the battlefield… Clarke was the first thing on her mind.

 

HM1 Echo snapped her fingers in front of Lexa’s face, which spurred Lexa to return to the moment. “I see that your concussion is still going strong. What other symptoms are you experiencing?”

 

Lexa took a moment to collect herself, but felt her hand move up to her forehead out of its own accord. “For starters, the pain in my head is fucking killing me.”

 

“Right, right....” HM1 Echo was moving her hand as if she was writing something, but Lexa sat up slightly and saw that she was drawing the outline of what appeared to be a tiger walking on its hind legs. When HM1 Echo noticed Lexa’s eyes on her papers, she tilted the clipboard upward and glared at her. “Lucky for you, Sergeant, it’s difficult to assess when concussions are fully healed. You’ll probably be out of the patrol rotation for… a solid week. Maybe two, if you can really milk it.”

 

Lexa frowned to herself. What would 1Lt Indra make her do all day if she wasn’t either on patrol or preparing for patrol? She didn’t want to find out. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Doc…”

 

HM1 Echo waited patiently for a minute before laughing in her face. “Riiiight, Sergeant, and you didn’t just trail off and stare into nothing for the last five minutes.” She wrote a little more on her clipboard, or drew more of the tiger, Lexa didn’t know which, then ripped off a piece of paper and handed it to Lexa. It was three lines of… scribbles.

 

“Is this supposed to say something?” Lexa asked doubtfully.

 

“That was a test. You passed,” Echo said emotionlessly, handing Lexa another piece of paper with legible writing saying that she was to report back in 3 days for another examination and was restricted to camp duties for the foreseeable future.

 

“Is that it?” Lexa tucked the paper into her cami pocket. “You didn’t even do any medical tests on me.”

 

“I don’t have to,” Echo replied smugly. “You’re fucked. You can’t think clearly, zone out all the time, and have a splitting headache, and who knows how you’re sleeping will be affected. There’s no way in hell you should be out on missions right now. You’re welcome.” She reached behind her into a cupboard and pulled out a container of pills. “Here’s some ibuprofen. Two every four hours to help with the pain.”

 

“Thanks, Doc” Lexa said, hopping off the gurney and swaying on her feet. Echo reached over and steadied her arm, giving her an “I-told-you-so” look.  Lexa had reached the doorway of the medical tent, when Echo cleared her throat.

 

“Sergeant Carey… who’s Clarke? I heard from your squad that you called out their name.”

 

Lexa hesitated, her hand on the door handle. “Someone I need to talk to.” She opened the tent door and stepped out into the warm night air, Echo staring hard at her back.

 

**********

 

Lexa suspected the rest of her squad was in the chow hall having dinner before it closed, but she hurried to their tent instead. She found her phone under her pillow and turned it on, staring at it impatiently while it registered on the network. Finally, two new messages popped up.

 

 **Clarke, 1147** : My mom sent me chocolate chip cookies, but they’re all in crumbles :( :(

 

She attached a photo of herself holding up the box of cookie crumbs, a frown on her face. Lexa didn’t notice the smile that overtook her, before hitting the next button to see the other message.

 

 **Clarke, 1818** : One of the pilots plugged the toilet on today’s flight OMG. 1Lt Poollamy

 

Lexa laughed to herself, imagining how Clarke would have told her that story face-to-face. She hesitated for another moment, before muttering “Fuck it” and hitting the dial button next to Clarke’s name. She held the phone up to her ear and took in a deep breath after she had realized that she had accidentally stopped breathing. She heard the first ringtone, then the second… Lexa sat down on her cot, holding her aching head in her hand, as the third ringtone sounded.

 

“Lexa? Is that you?”

 

Lexa burst to her feet when she heard Clarke’s voice, which immediately made her vision go white and fill her with nausea.

 

“Lexa, are you there? It’s Clarke.” Clarke’s voice was filled with worry.

 

“I’m here, Clarke,” Lexa managed, laying down on her bed and closing her eyes.

 

“It’s really good to hear your voice, Lexa. But are you alright? You sound like you’ve had better days.”

 

Lexa enjoyed the way that Clarke kept saying her name. “I got shot today, Clarke.”

 

The jumble of words that came from Clarke’s end of the phone was endless and incomprehensible, and it sent Lexa laughing.  “What? Why are you laughing? Are you OK? Where were you shot? How can you be laughing at a time like this??”

 

“Relax, Clarke,” Lexa said, feeling tired but relaxed and more at ease than she had since she had arrived at Camp Bastion. “My helmet stopped it. I’m fine. Doc says I have a little concussion…”

 

“Oh my God, Lexa, I’m so glad it wasn’t more serious. This also explains why you sound so out of it right now...”

 

“No I don’t, you do,” Lexa grinned into her phone, but her smile slowly faded. “I really miss you, Clarke.”

 

“I really miss you too, Lexa,” she said quietly, then paused. “But you sound tired--why don’t we talk again tomorrow? Maybe we can try to Skype, if your internet is fast enough over there?”

 

Lexa was curled up on her cot, even though her boots and uniform were still on. “Yeah, I want to see you Clarke. Let’s Skype tomorrow. Send me your user name… OK?”

 

“OK, I’ll text it to you. Good night, Lexa.”

 

But Clarke didn’t get a reply, as Lexa had already drifted off to sleep with her phone still in her hand.

 

**********

 

Clarke had to squint at the fuzzy video on her laptop screen, but finally she saw it, and her eyes went wide. “You really did get shot in the forehead.”

 

“Yes I did,” Lexa said proudly, glancing sideways at the helmet she was holding up in front of the computer screen before placing it back down onto the desk. Behind her, Clarke could see another two Marines sitting at computer screens, Skyping as well. “I’ll probably get a medal for this,” Lexa continued. “Something about unflinching bravery in the face of adversity.”

 

“Do you think they’ll mention how you fell off the roof onto your squadmates in your commendation letter?” Clarke grinned into the camera.

 

“They better,” Lexa replied solemnly. “I want every Marine to learn from my example. Get shot, fall off roof, get a week off of work, earn glory and honor. It’s a very simple equation that I think they’ll be able to understand.”

 

“I don’t know,” Clarke said, full of mock skepticism. “They are Marines, after all. You might have to draw them a picture to make sure they get it.”

 

Clarke thought that Lexa was just glaring at her, but after a few moments she realized that the video had just frozen. “Lexa? Are you there? If you hung up on me, I swear to God I don’t think all Marines are idiots…”

 

A full minute later, the video of Lexa returned, grainy but moving. “Clarke? There you are. Last thing I heard was you insulting Marines’ intelligence.”

 

“Yeah, I was afraid you had hung up on me after that,” Clarke laughed.

 

“Would serve you right. But it’s probably for the best that you didn’t hear my reply. I don’t think your fragile flygirl pride would have been able to handle it.” Lexa looked down at her hands, then back into the camera, turning sober. “I only have a few minutes left before I have to let someone else use the computer, and I wanted to talk to you about why I never replied to your texts…”

 

Finally. Clarke tried not to look too interested in what Lexa was saying, but she unconsciously leaned in closer to her laptop camera. “It was a very cold shoulder you gave me, Lexa.”

 

“The coldest.” Lexa paused, collecting her thoughts, before looking earnestly into the camera. Clarke could just make out the green in her eyes, and it made her heart ache, even as she waited expectantly. “I need to reduce my distractions out here. As you can see, it’s not the safest place…” Lexa touched the bruise on her forehead tenderly. “And even though I was 100% focused yesterday, even though I was doing everything right, I still got shot. I still put my squad’s lives in danger.”

 

“So what are you saying?” Clarke asked into the silence, afraid of Lexa’s response.

 

Lexa had been staring at her hands again, but she returned her gaze to the webcam. “I’m saying that if Afghanistan is so fucked up that I can get hurt or shot or killed even when my squad and I do everything right... I don’t think distractions are the things I need to worry about.”

 

Clarke almost winced at Lexa using the word “distraction” again. “Is that all I am to you? A distraction?”

 

Lexa’s shoulders sagged. “No. Of course not. But when I think about you…” She looked upward, searching for the right words. “I feel normal again. I feel like I’m allowed to have normal thoughts and dreams. I remember that there’s a life outside of all of this, where I don’t have to worry about being shot in the head and falling off roofs.”

 

Clarke laughed at that, but didn’t say anything.

 

“And sometimes…” Lexa continued, “I think that being deployed is easier when you don’t remember that you’re a normal person, or that you’re returning to real life once it’s all said and done. It’s easier to shoot people, and call in airstrikes, and know that people are trying to kill you, when you separate this from your life back home. And when I’m with you, talking or texting, or… I remember that life is about more than just survival.”

 

Clarke felt tears gathering in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She was still amazed at the walls that this Marine had put up--the flirtatious, tough, emotionless walls--and how raw and vulnerable she was underneath them. “I think I understand, Lexa. I have to put my job into a box, too. Sometimes I’m talking to friends, or watching TV, and all of a sudden, I remember trying to save someone’s life on the C-130. I remember their blood on my hands, and what they looked like as their life slowly faded away… It’s difficult to reconcile those experiences with life back home.”

 

Lexa just nodded. “So I’m sorry, Clarke, that I ignored you. I’m still trying to figure out how to balance these two worlds.”

 

“I forgive you, Lexa.” Clarke held her fist up to the camera. “But do it again, and I’ll cut you.”

 

Lexa smirked at that, as a Marine walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

 

“Sergeant, I’ve been waiting half an hour for a computer...” Clarke heard him say.

 

“And you’ll be waiting another half hour if you touch me again,” Lexa growled at him. He backed off, and Lexa looked apologetically into the camera. “I should go, Clarke. As much as I would like to hear what else you would do to me if I ignored you.”

 

Clarke raised an eyebrow at her. “Ignoring your girlfriend is not the way to get flirted with.” A second later, Clarke realized what she had said, and panic etched her face. “OK, got to go, bye!”

 

The last thing Clarke saw was a look of surprise on Lexa’s face, before she ended the Skype call and shut her laptop screen with a thud. She did not just say girlfriend. Oh no.

 

**********

 

“There’s really nothing else to say, guys.” Maj Kane organized the pile of papers in his hands and counted them. “Looks like I have all of your comm cards, so you guys are free to go. Great mission today.”

 

Jasper, sitting next to Raven around the briefing table, held up his hand to her for a high five. She just raised an eyebrow at him as she got up from her chair. Sitting on the other side of Jasper, Wells gave him a pity-five and laughed at him.

 

Clarke watched it all happen and shook her head at Raven. She loved that her crew could keep such a great sense of humor, despite the fact that they had just flown 12 injured soldiers back to Kandahar. But at least all of the soldiers were in stable condition and had good prospects for recovery. This was one of the good days, Clarke told herself.

 

Before anyone could leave the briefing room, the squadron commander LtCol Thelonius stepped regally into the room. Everyone who was still left sitting jumped to their feet to stand at attention, but he waved them down again. “At ease, everyone. Is your debrief over? I need to speak to Colonel Gabby and Sergeant Griffin.”

 

Raven shot Clarke a questioning look, but all Clarke could do was shrug. She had no idea what this was about either.

 

“Just finished up, sir,” Maj Kane said to the commander, gathering his papers and flight bag before heading out of the room. “Let’s leave them to it, everyone.”

 

LtCol Gabby remained where she was seated, and Clarke shifted down a couple of seats to sit beside her. LtCol Thelonious sat across from them, as the rest of the crew left the room.

 

He folded his hands on the table, looking intently between LtCol Gabby and Clarke. “I just got off the phone with Colonel Renfrew in Camp Bastion. Since we fly out to Bastion two or three times a week, he would like to organize a medical conference with us to discuss a couple of ways that we could improve our missions out to Bastion.”

 

“That sounds like a great idea,” LtCol Abby said, nodding. “When will the conference be occurring?”

 

“Tomorrow,” LtCol Thelonius replied. “And you two will be attending.”

 

“Tomorrow?!” Clarke burst out in surprise.

 

The commander just stared at her. “Yes, tomorrow,” he said with a hint of impatience. “Colonel Abby was the obvious choice for medical officer from our squadron. But they also requested an enlisted flight crew member, which is why we’re sending you as well. You’re the most experienced technician we have in the squadron right now.”

 

Clarke’s mind was racing so fast that she barely heard what he was saying, but she managed to pull it together after a few moments. “Yes, sir. Of course I’ll go. I have a few recommendations for their hospital there as well.”

 

“We’ll be happy to represent the squadron,” LtCol Abby said.

 

“Splendid. You’ll be taking Torque 05 tomorrow morning at 0700 and staying through Friday.” LtCol Thelonious was already standing up again, and Abby and Clarke followed suit.

 

After he had left the briefing tent, LtCol Abby and Clarke just looked at each other in wonder.

 

“I guess we should go pack,” LtCol Abby said. “I’ll pack a copy of our flight checklists, and I’ll print out our squadron’s standard operating procedures as well…”

 

But Clarke wasn’t really listening anymore. She was a confusing mixture of excited and stressed and numb, and a million thoughts were running through her head. But one was beginning to slowly rise to the surface.

 

She was going to see Lexa. Tomorrow.

 

Holy shit.

  
  



	12. Working Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke journeys to Camp Bastion and gets to spend some time with bae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello there! Remember me? At long last, after fighting through finals hell, I have finally finished this chapter that spiraled out of control in terms of length and content.
> 
> Please take a look at the tags for updated warnings, as things get a little heavy here. I'm not sure what happened to the fluff fest I thought this story would be. I hope you enjoy!

The body armor dug a little painfully where it rested on her thighs. Clarke tried shifting it further up on her shoulders to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use--they just needed to land soon, so that she could finally take it off. They had been airborne for almost three hours, and Clarke was done with “feeling like a warrior” in her body armor and helmet.

She and LtCol Abby were crammed between two hulking Marines in the folding seats along the walls of the C-130 cargo bay. The rest of the cargo area was piled high with generators, stacks of bottled water, and wooden crates that could have contained anything from canned vegetables to bombs. Clarke hoped for the former.

Despite the deafening whir of the propellers, LtCol Abbey had passed out next to her with her neck craned at an awkward angle. At least one of them seemed to be enjoying their flight to Camp Bastion, Clarke thought. She had tried to sleep through the flight as well, but her mind had been too preoccupied with what would happen in Bastion.

Landing.

Networking with medical professionals.

… And Lexa.

It had only been a few weeks since Lexa had left for Bastion, but it already seemed to Clarke like she hadn't seen her in ages. The time had seemed even longer to Clarke, because Lexa had gotten  the bright idea of completely ignoring her to be “more focused on her mission.” She understood that Afghanistan was dangerous, and that Lexa needed to put her work first. But how could she just choose to ignore her one day?  How did she go from whispering sweet nothings in Clarke's ear to pretending she didn't exist? Clarke attributed it to the stresses of deployment, but sometimes she thought that Lexa had a heart of stone. The Marine was a complex person, to say the least, and Clarke needed to spend more time getting to know her, understanding how her mind worked.

Over the propeller noise, static sounded on the C-130’s intercom. “Bastion just got rocket attacked," one of the pilots explained. "We’ll be entering a holding pattern around the camp until they get that cleared out. Sit tight--we have plenty of fuel to wait this one out.”

Welcome to Camp Bastion, Clarke thought. Kandahar wasn’t alone in getting rocketed so frequently. She hoped everyone in Camp was safe--one Marine in particular.

The moment that Clarke had learned of her medical liaison trip to Camp Bastion, she had sent a text gushing excitement to Lexa.  Lexa only responded with questions about the logistics of the trip, which made Clarke wonder if Lexa wasn't less thrilled with the news. But later that night, Clarke received a photo message from her: it was innocent enough, only showing Lexa's demure smile and her bare shoulders, but  it made Clarke's heart beat faster. If Clarke knew her at all, that smile held promises that Lexa didn't need to say aloud.

Still, Clarke felt conflicted: she didn’t want to be a distraction to Lexa, considering how dangerous her patrols undoubtedly were. But the naive, sappy romantic in Clarke hoped that they would be able to spend a few blissful hours together at least. It was hard to believe that they were able to see each other again before they both rotated back to California, and Clarke didn't want to waste the opportunity. But with how tightly-lipped Lexa had been with her work, and what her schedule was like, Clarke didn't know how much they would get to see of each other.

Clarke was startled out of her thoughts by more static from the intercom. “This is Captain Riley up in the flight deck,” the same voice sounded again, awakening LtCol Abby beside her. “Looks like Bastion was just given the all clear, and we're third in line for landing. Hang tight, guys.”

LtCol Abby wiped a little drool from the side of her mouth. “We're there already?”

“Already?” Clarke laughed. “It's been three and a half hours.”

“Oh.” The colonel tried to cover a massive yawn with her hand. “I could really get used to this medical liaison thing. Much more relaxing than our usual missions.”

But at that moment, their C-130 lurched downward, making their stomachs feel like they were flying into their throats. “I think you spoke too soon,” Clarke managed, as they began their descent into Bastion.

It was an exhilarating (and perhaps slightly terrifying) landing,  but the firm touchdown of the wheels on the tarmac brought one solid fact.

Clarke was seeing Lexa soon. _Soon_

 

**********

 

When they stepped out of the open cargo bay in the back of the C-130, Clarke swore that the heat and glaring sun were even more intense than back in Kandahar. As the Marines were greeted by a sergeant, who started yelling and seemed like he would never stop yelling until he passed out, Clarke and LtCol Abby scanned around the flight line for someone who would show them to the Marine medical command. The colonel had told Clarke that the Marine unit had been vague about who would be receiving them once they arrived, but that someone should be there.

Clarke froze when she saw her.

_That little shit…_

Lexa walked up to them, all Marine confidence and authority. She gave Clarke a knowing look before turning her attention to LtCol Abby and giving her a sharp salute,which the officer returned.

“Welcome to Camp Bastion. I'm Sergeant Carey, and I'll be escorting you around Camp for the next three days.” She paused, glancing back to Clarke. “What a surprise to see you again, Staff Sergeant Griffin,” Lexa said without a hint of emotion.

Clarke nearly couldn’t hold in her laughter. “It's a surprise for one of us, at least.”

“Oh, you two know each other?” LtCol Abby said innocently.  “What a happy coincidence!”

Clarke squinted at the colonel. “Wait… you knew about this too?”

“Whatever are you talking about?” LtCol Abby looked nonchalantly around the flightline, focusing on the Marines unloading the pallets from the C-130. “What's first on the agenda, Sergeant? I'm sure we have a busy day ahead of us.”

“Right this way, ma'am,” Lexa said, as she led them across the flightline towards the gate, the slightest upturn of lips betraying her satisfaction.

Clarke gawked at them as they walked away before scrambling to catch up with them. Sergeant Carey and LtCol Abby… partners in crime? Co-conspirators? She imagined that stranger things had happened.

  


**********

 

Despite them spending the entire day together, there had been little chance for Clarke and Lexa to say more than a few words to each other. It seemed that Clarke had spoken with every other Marine on Bastion: meeting combat medics, discussing ways to improve efficiency during medivacs, touring the camp's medical facilities... but she didn’t have a chance to talk to the one Marine that really mattered.

With the sun disappearing into a dusty haze behind the low hills to the west, LtCol Abby was deep in conversation with a British Marine colonel. They had been discussing possible equipment upgrades for the camp for the last 20 minutes. Clarke and Lexa exchanged a bored glance with each other, and Clarke was struck with the normalcy of it all. She wondered if this was what it would be like to be in class with Lexa, stuck listening to a monotone professor, imagining what they would be doing once class was out, imaging finding a secret spot on campus that only the two of them knew about...

“You're going to have to tell me what you're thinking about once we're done today,” Lexa whispered to her, leaning in close enough for their arms and shoulders to touch. “You're smiling, and something tells me it's not about respirators and heart rate monitors.”

Clarke glanced sidelong at her, then focused again on the sunset. “I don't know if I should tell you,” she whispered back, “since you like to keep important information from me. Like the fact that you'd be leading us around Bastion for three days.”

Lexa sucked in a breath. “Not a fan of surprises, I see.”

“It's not that,” Clarke said, as she leaned in closer. “Even though you need to tell me the story of how you got Colonel Abby to keep a secret for you.” Clarke didn’t know if she should tell Lexa what she had been thinking, until she glanced back to Lexa and saw the caring and affection in her eyes. “I was just imagining watching this sunset somewhere else, somewhere less..”

“Afghanistan?” Lexa offered with a small smile.

“Basically,” Clarke laughed, before remembering that she and Lexa were supposed to be patiently waiting for the officers to be done discussing… whatever dull topic they had moved onto. “Have you ever been to Balboa Beach?”

“Near Costa Mesa? Once. I usually go to beaches closer to Pendleton.  When we didn't have extra duty from someone getting a DUI, of course.”

“Marines,” Clarke scoffed, earning a playful shoulder push from Lexa. “I keep forgetting how close we live to one another in California. We could have gone to the same coffee shop or In-N-Out and never even known the other was there.”

"It doesn't have to stay that way."

Clarke just raised an eyebrow at her, urging her to continue.

"What I mean is, we could make things more... intentional." Lexa ground her boot into the dirt, not looking at Clarke. "Go to the beach together. Grab a drink. Wear literally anything other than a uniform."

Clarke didn't even bother trying to hide the smile that was overtaking her. "Lexa Carey, are you asking me on a date?"

Lexa stared impassively at Clarke's sarcasm, which sent Clarke into a fit of laughter. But Clarke was brought back to reality when Lexa cleared her throat, and she realized that both colonels had stopped talking and were looking at her.

“Sorry to interrupt, ma'am," Clarke apologized sheepishly to the colonels.

LtCol Abby smiled, looking between her and Lexa. "I had forgotten you two were even standing there. Why don't you go grab some dinner? I think we're done for the day."

The British colonel confirmed that they had completed their last task, so Clarke and Lexa were able to salute the two officers and be alone for the first time in weeks, or as alone as people could be in a camp with thousands of other people.

On their way to the chow hall, Clarke let her hand brush against Lexa's, but didn't dare to do anything more. After all, they were still deployed and in uniform. “I'm holding you to it, you know."

"To what?"

"If we get back to California, and you decide not to text me or call me--”

“Won't happen,” Lexa assured.

“Are you sure?” Clarke stopped, turning towards her. “You’ve ignored me once before, even if you had your reasons. How do I know you won't do it again?”

Lexa moved to grab Clarke’s arm but held herself back. Her gaze was intent. “I shouldn’t have shut you out. I take my work seriously, and I thought that ignoring you would make me more focused on my mission. I knew that it would hurt you, but I thought it was necessary to keep my squad safe."

"I know that you need to do whatever it takes to keep your people safe." Clarke steeled herself, not enjoying what she was about to say. "And if that requires not talking to me, then so be it. But not hearing from you, not knowing what was happening to you out here... it wasn't right."

"I know, Clarke. I thought that I knew what was best, that I could be stronger without you." Lexa sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. "But I realized that having someone to fight for, someone to live for, was infinitely better than ignoring what was in my heart."

Clarke stared at her for a long time, processing her own feelings. Lexa had hurt her, to be certain, and they had a long way to go in building trust that could be part of a healthy, stable relationship.  But was that what they were doing? Weren't they just two women deployed women in need of comfort? They had found each other here, in this unlikely place, and found themselves to be drawn closer and closer to to each other. Clarke knew that she shouldn't want more, and certainly shouldn't expect more, than what she and Lexa had already experienced. But she couldn't stop wondering, couldn't stop hoping, that there would be more to them after they left the desert.

"Clarke?"

Evidently, Clarke had taken more time to think than she had realized, and she cleared her throat. "You want to meet up in California?"

Lexa nodded resolutely. "Yes."

"Then I know just the place. Italian. Tiramisu. And most importantly, cheap wine."

The smile that spread slowly over Lexa's face could only be described as radiant. She squeezed Clarke's hand for a short moment, as they began walking along the gravel path once again.

Clarke didn’t know if it was just being deployed, or loneliness, or some combination of the two, but Lexa squeezing her hand meant everything to her.

  


**********

  


“What's next on the agenda, Sarge?” Clarke swung her arms by her side vigorously as she left the chow hall, Lexa right behind her. Unlike in Kandahar, where there was at least an attempt to serve fresh vegetables, all of Bastion's food had no doubt been thawed minutes before arriving on the dinner plate.

“Sarge? Really?” Lexa threw her a stony look. “I thought I knew you better than that.”

“What, you don't like nicknames?” Clarke asked innocently. She followed beside Lexa, not knowing (or caring, to be honest) where they were going. “I've thought of a couple today that you might enjoy.”

“I doubt that very much,” Lexa said with a sigh, but Clarke knew by the slightest hint of an upturned lip that she wanted to hear them.

“The most appropriate title for the next few days is definitely ‘tour guide.’”

“Fuck off!” Lexa shoved her off the gravel path into the loose sand, which sent Clarke bursting out laughing. "I'm a war-hardened Marine, and don't you forget it."

“Don’t worry, I have some better ones that you might enjoy.”

“Such as?”

Clarke gave her an impish smile. “I was thinking you’d probably enjoy… Sergeant Heart Eyes.”

Lexa cleared her throat, looking everywhere but Clarke. “Cute. But I do not deserve that nickname.”

Clarke watched as Lexa slowly turned red from the neck up. “Yeah you’re right, Sergeant Blush is much more appropriate.”

Lexa just sped up her pace and left Clarke behind, laughing.

They stopped in a roped-off area that was apparently the smoke pit, one of the few areas in camp where Marines could smoke. Lexa reached into one of her pockets and took out a pack of cigarettes. As an apparent afterthought, she looked up at Clarke and asked “Mind if I smoke?”

“As a medical professional, I must advise you that smoking is bad for your health,” Clarke observed, eyebrow raised.

Lexa lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting out a puff of smoke away from Clarke. “So is being infantry in Afghanistan. But your concern is appreciated. “

“You should be concerned, too.” Clarke sighed in a way that she hoped was dramatic.

Lexa raised an eyebrow. “And why's that?”

Clarke leaned in towards her, pointedly glancing down at the smoldering cigarette. “Because the chances of me kissing you after you've smoked one of those is slim to none.”

“You’re bluffing.” Lexa raised the cigarette to her lips again, but Clarke kept her gaze locked on hers and cocked her head to the side. Lexa’s expression darkened. “I hope you’re bluffing.”

Clarke shrugged her shoulders. “You can risk not kissing your--” She caught herself from saying it just in time and cleared her throat. “It’s up to you, do what you want.”

Clarke made to walk out of the roped-off smoke pit, but Lexa grabbed her arm and stopped her in her tracks. “My… what? What were you about to say?”

Lexa waited for her answer, but Clarke couldn’t. Things were so volatile, so unpredictable, and she didn’t want to put even more pressure on their… whatever it was they were doing. She didn’t want to jinx it, or encourage whatever fucked-up deity was in control of their lives in Afghanistan to play some trick on them as soon as the word left their mouths. Lexa had already been shot in the head, for fuck’s sake, and Clarke knew that anything could happen to herself during her medivac missions as well.

Lexa had been watching her unwaveringly, with an expression that  earned the nickname Sergeant Heart Eyes. She seemed to come to a decision, as she ground the half of her cigarette that she hadn’t yet smoked on her boot. She dropped it in the receptacle and raised her chin defiantly at Clarke. “Some things are more important than cigarettes. At least for the next two days.”

Clarke tried to control the flushing of her cheeks and the fluttering of her heart, but she failed on both accounts. She wrinkled her nose. “You still smell like an ashtray.”

Lexa leveled a look at her. “You don’t even want to know what you smell like.”

Smacking Lexa’s arm, Clarke didn’t bother to hold back the laugh that erupted from her. She really thought she could get used to this, the easy joking and debating. She wasn't sure when it had occurred over the last several weeks, but she had come to live for moments like this. And whatever they did--or didn’t--call their relationships, Clarke knew she would do anything to protect it.

  


*****

 

At Lexa’s suggestion, they made their way to the recreation tent, which contained a couch, an ancient big screen TV, and little else. Compared to the rec tent in Kandahar, it was pretty lackluster. But that was true with every facility that Clarke had seen so far at Bastion.

At the sound of the door clanging shut behind them, the three Marines on the couch--Blake, Lincoln, and Nyko--glanced back at Lexa and Clarke.

Blake raised an eyebrow.  “Oh, if it isn't Sgt Carey gracing us with her presence. And.. Blondie?! How the fuck did you manage this one, Sergeant?”

Lincoln, sitting next to her on the couch, sighed and shushed her. “Come on, Octavia. You just missed the grand reveal of the murderer. We'll have to rewind.”

Blake shot him a look. “Rewind? What century are you from? And I think I’ve seen enough Law and Order for one lifetime, thank you very much.” She turned her attention back to Lexa. “But seriously, you get shot in the head, you’ve gotten a week off, and your girlfriend gets to come visit? Life really isn't fair.”

Considering her recent conversation with Lexa, that sent Clarke into a coughing fit that was only partially contrived. Lexa crossed her arms and glared at Blake. “Maybe you should try getting shot in the head and see how you like it. I’d be happy to help.”

“If it gets me a paid vacation, then sign me the fuck up.” Octavia began to turn towards the TV again, but Lexa shot forward and towered over her, holding onto the back of the couch.

“What are you suggesting, Blake?” Lexa demanded with cold menace. “That I intended to get shot? That I’m milking this concussion for all it’s worth? Spit it out.”

Blake glared at her for a long moment before sinking deeper into the couch with a sigh. “No, Sergeant. But the ops tempo has been crazy with you out of the rotation, and I’m wondering when you’ll be back so the rest of us can get days off again too.”

“Doc should clear me for duty in another two days. I want to get back patrolling too, trust me. Office work is not what I signed up for.” Lexa glanced back at Clarke for a moment. “Although my current duties are less tedious.”

Blake slapped Lexa's arm and grinned. “You _dog_!”

That eased the heavy mood that had infiltrated the tent, and Lexa pulled up a couple of chairs for Clarke and herself next to the couch.

“So…” Clarke drawled, as the three Marines on the couch settled back in and looked back at the screen. “Now that we’ve straightened out that Sergeant Carey isn’t a lazy piece of shit, what are we watching next?”

“We still don’t know why she is lucky enough to have her girlfriend show up,” Blake observed with a devious grin.

Lincoln nudged her in the ribs. “Great advanced interrogation techniques. Which SVU episode did you get that from?”

“Nice try, Lincoln,” Blake said, “but I won’t be shaken off-course by your flimsy attempt at distraction. We have a mystery to solve: the case of the visiting hot Airman.”

“You said it, not me,” Clarke interrupted. “But does your interest in solving this mystery have anything to do with getting another Airman from Kandahar to visit Bastion?”

Blake sunk deeper into the couch and grabbed the remote from Lincoln. “Only if it’s that one Air Force drill instructor that posed for Playboy. Another episode of Law and Order, everyone?”

That started up a lively conversation about the Air Force instructor that Clarke only half-listened to. As another episode starting playing on the TV, Clarke become increasingly distracted by the woman sitting next to her: wearing Marine cammies, slouching in the folding metal chair, face illuminated by the various scenes of courtroom drama and determined questioning playing out on the television, occasionally smiling or frowning or her lips parting when she was surprised. Clarke remembered how her hair had cascaded over her pillow back in her dorm in Kandahar. The care-free laugh that she had managed to draw out of Lexa while they lay there, intertwined, trying to forget everything but the feel of each other’s skin and the taste of their lips, even as everything that surrounded them--the tiny twin bed, the austere white walls, the shrieking of fighter jets taking off nearby--reminded them of their reality and that they only had this brief time together. But Clarke knew the sound of her laughter, how it inspired her to create and renew rather than survive and destroy like so much of what she had experienced during this deployment. She had seen Lexa’s light, that managed to shine despite the darkness that surrounded them, and Clarke never thought that she would be able to forget it.

Clarke had to fight everything inside of her to resist holding Lexa’s hand. Not that the other Marines in the room would report them or do anything but mock them, but she cared about Lexa’s reputation with them. At some point during the episode, their legs had migrated closer and closer, until they were barely touching, then fully pressed against each other. But Lexa began to fidget and bounce her leg to such a degree that Clarke finally reached over and placed her hand on Lexa’s thigh, stopping the movement.

“What’s with you?” Clarke asked softly under the conversation playing on the TV.

“Nothing. Nothing is going on,” Lexa said unconvincingly, bouncing her leg again but stopping a second later.

“You either have ADHD, or…” Clarke narrowed her eyes at Lexa. “You’re going through withdrawals, aren’t you? It’s seriously been an hour since you smoked last.”

Lexa wrung her hands in her lap. “Half a cigarette. I only smoked half of it.”

“Oh my God!” Clarke laughed at her. “I really don’t think you’ll be able to survive two days at this rate.”

“Yes, I will,” Lexa reassured, releasing a deep breath. “It’s not even two days. You’re leaving in 31 hours.”

Clarke grimaced. “I’m not sure if it's sweet that you know exactly how much time you have with me, or if you’re just counting down the seconds until your next cigarette.”

Lexa looked at her from under her eyebrows. “It began as the first, I promise you.”

Slapping the Marine’s leg again, Clarke huffed in disbelief. “Just go smoke. I don’t want to spend 31 hours with a moody, recovering tobacco addict.”

Lexa didn't even let her finish, before she was out of her chair and reaching for her cigarettes in her pocket, but she hesitated. “I would have done it for you.”

“You can prove it when we’re both back in California,” Clarke challenged.

Lexa nodded once. Clarke didn’t know why, but it seemed like a binding promise coming from Lexa. She wouldn't forget it.

Mere moments after the door of the tent had shut behind Lexa, Blake had sprung off of the couch and into the chair next to Clarke. She stared straight ahead at the TV, then finally whispered to Clarke just loud enough for her to hear over the sound of the show. “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that I’m not interested in the nude Air Force drill instructor…. or rather, that there’s someone else I’m interested in as well.”

Clarke felt like she would ruin the moment--and any chance of Blake coming clean to her--if she looked at her or drew any attention to the two of them, so she pretended to keep watching the episode as well. “And who would that be? For the sake of argument.”

“I think you know,” Blake muttered under her breath.

“What? I couldn’t hear you.” Clarke needed to hear her say it.

Blake sighed, then turned fully toward Clarke. “Raven. I want to know how Raven’s doing. If she’s OK.”

“Haven’t you been calling her? I thought I heard an… interesting phone call coming from her room the other night.”

“Yeah, we have been, but….” Blake sighed again, then seemed to realize her moment of weakness and glared at her. “If you mention any of this to her, I swear to God…”

“I won’t say a word,” Clarke reassured, even though she wasn’t sure why Blake was so worried about it to begin with. It was obvious that these two liked each other, so why was Blake trying so hard to deny it?

“OK, good.” Blake took a steadying breath. “We have… amazing chemistry. Absolutely incredible. The ways that she’s able to bend her body--”

“That’s all I need to hear about that, Blake,” Clarke interrupted before things became too graphic.

“Right. I just want you to understand how mind-shattering it is to be with her, how she makes me forget about everything--”

“Yep. Got it.” Clarke could already feel her cheeks coloring.

“But it’s… kind of more than that.” Blake searched for the right words for a long moment. “I mean, the sex is fantastic--”

“Please stop,” Clarke groaned, but Blake payed little attention.

“But there’s more to it. I really… enjoy Raven,” Blake continued. “I respect her. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she’s given me the best orgasms of my life.”

At this point, Clarke could only roll her eyes and endure. “What’s your point, Blake?”

“I just…” Blake dropped her voice even lower, so that Clarke could barely hear her. “I really care about her. And I want to know if… if she feels the same way.”

Clarke’s heart softened. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? You guys already talk almost every day.”

“I could. I mean, it’s not like I’m scared or anything.” Blake sat up straighter and raised her chin. Marines, proud to the core, even when they’re asking for relationship advice. “I was going to ask her myself, but I figured that I would gather some intelligence first. Go in prepared.”

“Right.” Clarke was glad that the dark room somewhat masked her smile. She remembered the conversation she had with Raven right after Blake and Lexa had left for Bastion, and how devastated Raven had been. “Listen, I don’t know what kind of gossip you think we have in the Air Force, or if you think we have slumber parties where everybody plays truth or dare. You’ll have to ask Raven how she feels about you. But I do know that she smiles whenever she gets a text from you. She has an alarm on her phone to tell her when you should be back from your missions. And she won’t shut up about how awesome you are in bed either.”

“Really?” Blake asked with a mischievous grin. “What did she say? Her exact words.”

“Oh no, I’m not getting into that,” Clarke shook her head. “You’ll have to ask her about that yourself.”

Smirking, Blake put both of her hands behind her head and slouched. “Oh trust me, I will.”

The door clanging behind her, Lexa returned to Clarke’s side and glared at Blake until the Lance Corporal got the hint and moved back to the couch.

As Lexa sat down next to her, Clarke covered her nose. “Did you smoke the whole pack out there?”

“Very funny, Clarke. What did Blake want?”

“She wanted dirt on you, of course.”

Lexa’s attention turned to Clarke all at once. “And what did you say?”

“Relax!” Clarke patted Lexa’s leg again, which was no longer fidgeting, thank God. “We weren’t talking about you. She just wanted some details about a certain crew member of mine.”

“She didn’t show you their sexts, did she?”

“And some of the photos. I’m amazed they got those camera angles without assistance.”

The Law and Order episode finally finished, and everyone was yawning and struggling to stay awake. It may have only been 2100, but that was late when your day had to begin before sunrise. They all stumbled out of the tent, but Clarke and Lexa hung back near the entrance, drinking in the cooler night air, the sky full of stars, and each other. If not for the constant hum of diesel generators and helicopter rotors, it could have been peaceful.

“So... I’ll see you tomorrow?” Lexa stood in front of her awkwardly, not knowing what to do with her hands.

“I would say so, considering you’re going to be my tour guide for another day,” Clarke grinned briefly, before it faded away. “Listen, about earlier, during the Skype call, and then at the smoke pit, I said, or almost said--”

“You don’t have to explain, Clarke,” Lexa interrupted. She took one of Clarke’s hands before looking up at her again. “I don’t want you to say anything before you’re ready.”

Clarke squeezed her hand. “I want us both to be ready.”

“I already am, Clarke.”

After glancing around and seeing that no one was nearby, Clarke leaned in toward Lexa and kissed her softly on the cheek, right beside her mouth. Lexa sighed audibly, but made no other move. Clarke lingered for a long moment before pulling back again. “Good night, Lexa.”

Clarke turned and walked away toward her tent. When she looked back some time later, Lexa was still standing there, as if in a daze.

 

**********

 

The medical liaison mission the next day went as well as it could have. LtCol Abby and Clarke got the full tour of the camp's somewhat meagre medical facilities. Part of Clarke was amazed that, despite the camp being built nearly a decade ago, the so-called hospital was barely capable of performing basic surgery. No wonder they had to send their patients to Kandahar, and then onward to bases in Germany with more advanced medical care facilities, as soon as the patients were able. She supposed that the military refused to build anything too permanent in Afghanistan to give the illusion that it wasn't a permanent occupation. She didn't think this tactic was fooling anyone.

Lexa was her professional self all day, and from all appearances, she was an exceptional Marine. She performed all customs and courtesies gracefully, managing to balance respect and humor with everyone she encountered. Quite frankly, she was a natural in this world, a result of several years of experience and a natural aptitude for the military life. Clarke suspected she would never feel that same ease in the military. Being in the Air Force Guard and only on active duty once per year, she was caught between the civilian and military worlds. Usually, she was grateful for this, getting to escape to the Air Force when she was sick of school and vice versa, but it did have the effect of making her never feel quite at home in either world.

With the tour over, dinner eaten, and the sun dipping closer to the horizon, turning the dusty sky a rosy shade of red, the medical delegation of Marines and Airmen finally dispersed. LtCol Abby left the chow hall table with the colonel who had been leading them alongside Lexa the entire day.

Clarke and Lexa looked at each other for a long time, a slow smile spreading on Clarke's face. “You're a great tour guide, you know.”

Lexa glared at her “Shut up.” She picked up a kernel of corn from her plate and threw it at Clarke's face, but she easily dodged it.

“I was thinking you might be in the wrong profession. You could lead people all across Afghanistan, show them how kind the locals are, and that you have the head wound to prove it.”

“If you didn't like me throwing corn at you, you should be advised that I'm about to start throwing my cutlery.”

“See? You even use the world Cutlery. So proper.”

Lexa's no-doubt smouldering reply was interrupted by the loud buzzing of her phone in her pocket. Lifting a finger to Clarke, as if to say that this discussion wasn't over, she answered the phone with impatience.

“What, Blake?.... Tonight? When?... Yes we'll be there.” She hung up the cell phone and replaced it in her pocket, an evil grin overtaking her. “What do you say to a game of basketball with the squad tonight, Clarke?”

Clarke didn't trust that sly smile, not for a second. “What's the catch?”

“No catch, just a small wager. If my team wins, you have to stop the tour guide shit. If you win, you can call me whatever you want, all the time, forever, and I promise not to complain. What do you think?”

The deal seemed too good to be true, Clarke thought. How did Lexa feel so sure that she would win? Clarke wasn't overly athletic, but she could certainly hold her own. “I feel like there's something you're not telling me”

Lexa just shrugged. “Guess you'll have to find out.”

 

**********

 

It was a massacre.

Lexa, Blake, and Nyko were pitted against Clarke, Lincoln, and Anya. At first, Clarke's team managed to hold its own, but with ten points left in their first game, Lexa was suddenly _everywhere_. She stole the ball from Clarke, who didn't even know she was right behind her. She blocked Lincoln's shot from the three point line effortlessly, slapping it into a player in the adjacent court. She became a one-woman team, single-handedly scoring the next nine points of the game, back to back to back.

Clarke realized that she had been played. She had thought that this would be a somewhat fair fight, and that she had a chance to win their bet, but far from it.

Clarke dribbled the ball as skillfully as she knew how, down below her knees, Lexa moving in to defend across from her in the middle of the court. Clarke raised an eyebrow at her. “I can't believe I was conned.”

“Conned?”

“By a basketball shark. You didn't think you ought to mention that you're bound for the WNBA?”

“Didn’t I tell you about the basketball scholarship? The one I turned down?”

Clarke squinted at her. “You conveniently failed to mention that.”

Lexa quit stalling and stole the ball from Clarke, sprinting to the other side of the court and _dunking_ it. She hung from the rim for a moment, while Clarke's team just groaned.

Walking up to Clarke, Anya rolled her eyes. “Of course she’s showing off in front of you. She usually holds back enough for it to be a close game. If we had anything other than basketball out here, I would wipe that smirk right off her mouth."

Clarke understood Anya's frustration. But she suspected that she could come up with some other ways to rid Lexa of that infuriating smirk.

  


**********

 

After the basketball game, Clarke looked down at her grey Air Force PT shirt and the unattractive sweat splotches that covered her stomach. Maybe exercising with the Marines had been a little more vigorous than her usual workouts, but she would never admit it. The Marines  would probably just go on and on about the “Chair Force" and congratulate each other on the size of their biceps.

Considering her tense muscles and the sweaty state of her body, Clarke decided that a hot shower was in order… if they even had hot water out here. This was her first extended stay at a more remote base, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Did they have to shower with buckets? She hoped not--even if it would give her a good story to tell her classmates once she got back to UC Irvine. As if she needed more “quaint” deployment stories to make herself feel a million years older than her classmates. There was a reason she tended to hang out more with her co-workers than the other students she knew. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to relate to people whose biggest concerns in life were whether or not to upgrade to the latest iPhone.

Back in the 50-person tent that she and LtCol Abby seemed to be sharing between the two of them, Clarke analyzed the base map that Lexa had given her earlier. The nearest women’s shower facility was a short walk away, so she changed into her flip flops and grabbed her shower supplies.

A cloud of steam met her when she entered the shower facility, a rectangular building that looked like it belonged behind a tractor-trailer. Clarke was happy to discover that the inside wasn’t much worse than what they had in Kandahar: toilets and sinks to the right, and what she expected to be showers behind a privacy curtain to the left. When she pulled aside the curtain, Clarke stopped in her tracks.

Lexa was standing beside a wooden bench in the middle of the room, wearing a white towel around her body, and it took her a few seconds to notice Clarke. She must have just been about to step into the shower, because her shoulders and hair were still dry. Blake was across from her on the other side of the bench, naked and drying off her dripping hair with her towel.

Blake’s voice was muffled from beneath her towel. “But you really need to stop faking this concussion thing and come back to the squad. Gunny Anya is way more of a slave driver than you.” When Lexa didn’t answer, the Lance Corporal poked her head out of her towel. “Sergeant?”

Clarke finally came to her senses and hung her towel on a hook beside one of the the showers, dropping her bag of shower supplies on the bench. She tried to ignore how Blake was smirking back and forth between her and Lexa.

Lexa finally seemed to realize that she had been staring and cleared her throat, rummaging through her shower caddy but never seeming to find what she was looking for. “Staff Sergeant Griffin,” she said flatly.

“Sergeant Carey,” Clarke replied in as unaffected a tone as she could manage, feeling her cheeks growing red. Of course Lexa and Blake would be using the same showers at the same time. They had just been playing basketball together, and their tent was in the same part of Camp Bastion as hers. Clarke should have prepared for this possibility, so that it would be less of a distraction to see Lexa in only a towel, the tribal tattoos on her upper arms on full display. And if Clarke were being honest with herself, she could have used some preparation for seeing Blake naked, because holy shit, that girl had some abs and... other admirable qualities that Clarke was trying her best to ignore.

Blake appeared to be taking her time drying her hair and body. “What a coincidence that Sergeant Griffin’s tent is so close and she happens to use the same showers as us, huh Sergeant Carey? I wonder who set that up? Most visitors tend to stay closer to the command buildings.”

Lexa stopped rummaging through her shower caddy just long enough to shoot Blake a poisonous glare. “I have no idea, Lance Corporal.”

Clarke smiled to herself before glancing over to Lexa and allowing her eyes to wander down to the cleavage revealed by her towel. It seemed that there was a lot that Lexa wasn’t telling her, and Clarke was going to enjoy getting the truth out of her. But only if Blake got out of the shower facility sometime this century.

Clarke busied herself with putting her shampoo and body wash containers into one of the empty showers, and when she turned back to the bench, Blake had managed to put on her change of PT clothes and was tying her damp hair back into a ponytail. Lexa was keeping herself busy by glaring at her nonstop and had even abandoned the pretense of finding something in her shower caddy.

Blake just laughed at her. “Chill, Sergeant, I’m leaving.” She winked at Clarke on her way out of the shower area. “You guys should take your time. And I’m sure Sergeant Griffin could use some help washing her back, Sergeant…”

Clarke’s grin widened when she saw the look of exasperation on Lexa’s face. Blake’s cackling laughter faded away as she pushed past the privacy curtain and left the shower facility, the door slamming shut behind her. With Blake gone, the tension in the room had only increased. Clarke took a step forward. “You really let her get under your skin, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lexa replied automatically, but her eyes were roaming none too subtly down Clarke’s body. Clarke thought she could see hunger there.

“You let her tease you. About me.” Clarke took another step forward. She could see the effect she was having on Lexa, despite the fact that she was still wearing sweaty PT gear. What she would give to be able to wear civilian clothes and seduce Lexa properly. “You could tell her to stop. Make her life a living hell for the way she talks to you. Why don’t you?”

Clarke was standing close enough now to see the lump in Lexa’s throat flutter as she swallowed. Lexa’s green eyes returned to hers. “Maybe I don’t mind people knowing how I feel about you.”

It was Clarke’s turn to swallow hard. She didn’t know when her throat had become so dry. “And how is that?”

In reply, Lexa tugged at a corner of her towel with one hand, which untucked the towel and sent it falling from her body onto the bench beside her. Clarke’s gaze flickered down long enough to appreciate the swell of breasts, the taut stomach, the muscular legs and arms. The black tribal tattoos on her upper arms were in stark contrast to her pale skin.

But without even realizing it, Clarke had closed the small distance between them. She wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders, nestling one hand into her thick hair, and pulled her down into a kiss full of pent-up need that Lexa didn’t hesitate to return. Clarke moaned into her mouth and ran her hands along Lexa’s bare shoulders, relishing the feeling of smooth flesh and muscle that rippled with the woman’s every move.

Lexa pulled her in closer by the waist and tugged upward on Clarke’s PT shirt. She broke their kiss long enough to say, ”If we’re going to shower together, you need to take this off.”

Clarke tilted her head over to Lexa’s ear. “Make me,” she whispered. She wanted to feel Lexa’s muscles moving against her, wanted to feel them flex and move her.

Clarke could have sworn that she heard Lexa growl, as the Marine pushed her back into one of the walls that separated two of the showers. She pulled Clarke’s shirt over her head with enough force that she heard the sound of fabric ripping.

Lexa licked from just above Clarke’s sports bra, all the way up to her neck, where she kissed and nibbled the soft skin there. “It tastes like the basketball earlier was a good workout for you.”

“Not as good as this workout’s gonna be.” Clarke meant to wag an eyebrow at her, but Lexa’s hands had wandered down to her hipbones under her PT shorts waistband, and Clarke felt herself closing her eyes and throwing her head back instead. For all her teasing words earlier, she didn’t protest at all as Lexa pulled her shorts and underwear down her legs. The throbbing between her legs was taking control.

Lexa was continuing to lay kisses all along her neck, and Clarke was sure that some of them were going to leave marks. “And how do you feel about me, Clarke?” Lexa asked against her neck.

Clarke stopped her hands that were edging towards Lexa’s ass and used them instead to pull her sports bra, her last remaining piece of clothing, over her head. She distanced herself from Lexa, enjoying the way that the Marine’s eyes were roving over her body. As she stepped backward toward one of the showers, she took Lexa’s hand and dragged her along with her. Lexa didn’t appear to need much urging to follow her into the shower.

When they were both safely behind the shower curtain, Clarke shoved Lexa up against the shower wall and pushed a knee between her legs, which sent Lexa gasping in surprise. She brushed one hand against Lexa’s stomach and slowly downward, while applying a rocking pressure with her knee. Her other hand found the shower knob and turned it on. The water was wretchedly cold at first, but it only gave Clarke an excuse to hold her body up close against Lexa’s. “You want to know how I feel about you, Lexa?” Clarke asked as her fingers finally reached Lexa’s clit and took the place of her knee there. Lexa groaned in response.

“I feel like I don’t know what I would do without you.” She brushed her fingers along Lexa’s folds, which elicited Lexa’s grabbing Clarke’s ass and pulling her against herself. The water was warm now and trickled down their bodies, mirroring the slickness that Clarke found between Lexa’s legs. “I feel like I would do anything for you. Like I want to do everything to you.” Clarke plunged two fingers into Lexa, and the way that Lexa bit down on her shoulder as she began slowly pumping her fingers forced her to pause and catch her breath before she continued whispering into Lexa’s ear.  “I feel like we’re better people together than apart.” She added a third finger and thrusted them deeper inside. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh God yes, Clarke,” Lexa managed to say, her body tensing as she clenched around Clarke’s fingers.

Clarke watched the look of ecstasy that passed over Lexa’s face as she came, and before it was even over, she knew that she was willing to risk everything to see Lexa in that state again. When she had recovered somewhat, Lexa pulled her into a deep kiss beneath the shower head, with the water already beginning to cool somewhat.

“Now I just need to create an excuse for you to stay at Bastion,” Lexa said against her lips.

“You’ve already manipulated your way to being my tour guide and having me use the same shower as you,” Clarke teased. “Finding a way for me to stay in Bastion should be easy.”

“I wouldn’t make you stay here. The food is terrible. So are the constant rocket attacks and small arms fire.”

“But the company’s nice,” Clarke fairly purred, leaning in to kiss Lexa’s upper lip.

The cold water coming from the shower head finally convinced them to leave the shower. Clarke was moving to put on her pair of clean PT gear, when the still-naked Lexa pulled her over to herself and placed a slow kiss on her lips. It was quickly becoming more heated, when they heard a loud knocking on the main door of the shower facility. They broke apart from each other, Clarke bursting out laughing and wiping a hand in annoyance across her face. “Just when I was beginning to forget that we were deployed…”

Lexa threw her a thoughtful look. “It’s actually very rare that we had that much time to ourselves, without someone else coming in to shower…”

They both got dressed quickly and grabbed their things, before heading past the privacy curtain and out the main door of the shower facility. Their way was blocked by a sign chained to both stair railings, saying “Closed for maintenance.” It was what the janitors put up while they were doing their daily cleaning of the restroom. An impatient Marine that Clarke didn’t recognize was standing there, holding her towel and shower caddy, her eyebrow raised in suspicion. “Closed for ‘maintenance’... Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Lexa took down the sign and raised her chin defiantly. “All of the ‘Closed for sex’ signs were gone.”

The other Marine stared at her crossly for a second before erupting into laughter. She patted Lexa on the shoulder as she walked into the shower facility. “And with an Airman? Not bad, Sergeant. Not bad at all.”

Well, that’s not how Clarke expected that interaction to go. “I really don’t understand how the Marine Corps works sometimes.” If this had happened in Kandahar, and anyone other than Raven had heard her having sex, she suspected that things would have been much less joking and much more disciplinary.

“I walked in on her with a guy in a port-a-potty once,” Lexa explained. “She’s not going to say anything.”

Clarke shuddered. “You know you’re desperate when a port-a-potty seems like a good option.”

“Better than a dumpster,” Lexa shrugged.

Clarke looked over at her in shock, but Lexa was already starting to smile. Clarke nudged her shoulder into Lexa’s arm. “ I almost would have believed you, except you’re a huge nerd and can’t keep a straight face.”

“There’s not much about me that’s straight, Clarke.”

“You’ve proven that point a few times.”

"And if the world is fair at all, I'll get to prove it a few more.

 

**********

 

Clarke knew that this was the last they would see each other for… God knew how long. Judging by Lexa's eyes, which were staring down at her hands, and the bittersweet tug of her lips, Clarke thought that Lexa was fully aware of this fact as well.

Clarke's hair was still somewhat wet from their… shower, and it provided a pleasant coolness at the base of her neck where it was pulled into a tight bun. Although the sun had set hours ago, she still felt a trickle of sweat rolling down her back.

Clarke knocked back the rest of her bottled water and reached across the wooden table where they had been sitting for the last hour, remembering their lives apart and their lives together. She took Lexa's hand and stroked her thumb across the smooth skin. She would normally be cautious about other military personnel passing by and seeing their displays of affection, but they were somehow quite alone that evening.

Clarke gave her a sideways grin. “Will you always remember to write?” she asked in her best impersonation of a Southern Belle.

That drew a short chuckle from Lexa, but not much more. She wrapped her fingers around Clarke's hand and squeezed gently. “Every damn day. Unless I'm out sleeping in the dirt somewhere.”

Clarke grimaced. “Remind me again why anyone enlists in the Marines?”

“For most, momentary insanity. Delusions of grandeur. Money.”

“And for you?” Clarke pressed.

“Chicks dig a woman in uniform.”

“I think this ‘chick’ prefers you out of uniform,” Clarke retorted, eyebrow raised. “But I'm being serious, what got you to join? No offense, but the Marine Corps isn't exactly a glamorous lifestyle. Especially if you were offered a basketball scholarship.”

Lexa took a moment to collect her thoughts. “To be honest, I was pushed into it. My brother was a fuck-up. My parents needed money. I was offered a full-ride to Gonzaga, but I knew I would barely be able to support myself doing that, let alone my parents and my brother.”

“So wait, you turned down a full-ride scholarship to Gonzaga so you could get shot at and sleep on the ground?”

“That's the gist of it,” Lexa confirmed with a nod.

“Have things gotten better for your family since you've been in?”

“My brother joined the Army last year, and my parents paid off their debt, so I'd say things are better.”  

Clarke just blinked at her. She was so matter-of-fact, so unwilling to take the credit for any of it, when in fact it seemed like Lexa had sacrificed her future for her parents and brother. How could anyone be so selfless? How could someone's sense of duty be so strong as to see a bright future for themselves, be so close and able to grasp it, and then accept it wasn't for them and move on without a hint of bitterness?

Clarke’s heart swelled with admiration, as she squeezed Lexa’s hand. “You're a very strong person, Lexa Carey. “

A bright flash to Clarke's right. A resounding boom a second later that shook her to her core. Sparks flew, as if a power line was hit. Yelling. And then gunshots.

Lexa was already on her feet, her rifle slung in front of her and propped in her hands in the low ready position. She motioned for Clarke to get down, but Clarke sprung up by her side, pulling out her pistol.

“Clarke, you need to get back to your tent,” Lexa said calmly, chambering a round. “Lock the doors, turn off the lights, don't let anyone in except Colonel Abby.”

Clarke clicked off the safety of the M9. Another explosion made the night sky light up, closer than the first one. The near-constant ringing of small arms fire made her blood run cold. What the fuck was going on?

Lexa grabbed her arm that was holding the weapon. “Don't do this, Clarke. You don't have the training, the experience--”

Pulling away, Clarke glared at her. “I'm not going to cower in my tent while you're out here fighting. I may not be a Marine, but I know how to defend the ones I care about.”

Lexa's expression softened, melting into something that Clarke had never seen there before.

Fear.

Swallowing hard, Lexa shook her head emphatically. Her eyes were filling with tears that threatened to fall. “No. No, Clarke. I can't lose you too.”

“Hey,” Clarke soothed, stroking Lexa's face with one hand. “We're gonna get through this. You and me. You taught me how to fire this weapon properly, remember? I'm going to stay low, be smart. Alright, Lexa?”

Clarke didn't feel anywhere near as confident as her words implied she was. She knew that Lexa would normally storm into battle without a second thought, would lay waste to the enemy and defend her squadmates to the death. It was disorienting, seeing Lexa fighting through her emotions, taking a deep, steadying breath, and finally wiping the last vestige of moisture from her eyes. But Clarke couldn't just sit there while the rest of the camp was saving her ass from whatever was happening. She couldn't expect other people to risk their lives if she wouldn't do the same. She had to do this. For all the Marines in the camp. For herself. For Lexa.

Composed somewhat, Lexa ran her hand along Clarke's hair and pulled her close, the M16 between them a stark reminder of their current situation. They held each other for a long moment, before Lexa pulled away.

“Let's give em hell,” she said with a glimmer in her eye that Clarke thought could be bloodlust.

Whatever Lexa's initial reasons for becoming a Marine, the job had certainly changed her, molded her, into the war machine she was now. No one could remain the same person they were before enlisting. No one.

Clarke had never shot at a target that wasn't paper, never pulled the trigger in anger or fear. Her blood ran cold when she thought about how the smallest increase of pressure on the trigger could stop someone from taking another breath, forever. The pistol in her hand had never felt heavier.

With a small nod, Lexa began their advance toward where the explosion had occurred minutes ago. Weapons fire continued to ring out, a morbid staccato against the background of smoldering flames. Clarke followed her, a half step behind, one hand supporting the bottom of her M9 and the other hand poised over the trigger guard.

As they approached the perimeter wall, Clarke's vision quickly become obscured by smoke. The fog of war, it seemed, was quite literal. The gunfire was more sporadic now, originating from the top of the wall where the military police were posted. Clarke wondered if there had been a gate here before the explosion, but with the smoke and darkness, she couldn't be sure.

“Carey! Where the hell have you been.”  1Lt Indra waved them over to one side of a tall concrete shrapnel wall, where most of Lexa's squad was crouched. Indra frowned when she saw Clarke. “She shouldn't be here.”

“I can take care of myself,” Clarke said quickly, staring hard at Indra. “It will be good for you to have another pair of eyes out here.”

Lexa nodded. “She'll stick with me, ma'am.”

Indra growled--actually growled--but another explosion near the perimeter wall forced her decision. “Fine, just keep her out of the way. Lincoln, take point. Nyko, hold back here and keep SA on where these fucks are coming from. The rest of you, let's move toward the wall and secure the breach.”

A breach… In the perimeter wall? Shit.

Clarke realized that she may have been way over her head as soon as Indra, Lincoln, and Blake advanced to side of the concrete wall and set up lookouts,. One by one, they  dashed over the open expanse of ground to another shrapnel wall about 20 feet away toward the perimeter wall.

When it was Lexa's turn to make the sprint, she grabbed Clarke's arm. “You don't have to do this,” she said just loud enough for Clarke to hear over the sporadic gun shots in the distance.

“Yes I do,” Clarke urged. “There's no way I'm letting you get shot in the head again.”

Lexa shook her head at Clarke's poor excuse for a joke but squeezed her arm. “Stay close.”

Without another word, Lexa sprung out from the wall and raced across the open sand. Clarke sprinted after her, marveling only for a second at how fast Lexa was before noticing the enormous fiery hole that existed where there used to be a gate. Parts of it were still on fire, and some wires were emitting sparks of live electricity. In the split second that Clarke could spare to gaze at the damage, she thought she saw a body sprawled limp on the ground… No, two bodies. Most likely guards.

With ten feet left to go to reach the next wall, Clarke saw the patches of dirt near her feet shoot up in sprays of sand, followed by deafening gunshots. Those were bullets. Intended for her. She fought down panic, as she sprinted faster than she had ever run in her life the rest of the way to the wall.

Lexa reached out from the protection of the wall and pulled Clarke in the last few feet, dirt exploding upward where Clarke had just been running. She collapsed gasping against Lexa.

They had been shooting. At her?! At her. _Shit_.

Lexa was looking her over and practically turned her body over in her hands. “Were you hit?”

“No, I'm fine,” Clarke wheezed, still recovering from the sprint, but even more, trying to recover from the idea that someone had been trying to kill her. She was so full of adrenaline that she wasn't even sure that she would be able to feel if she had been hit. The thought was not comforting.

Indra had been barking commands the entire time, and judging by the way that Lexa kept nodding, she was managing to follow along. Clarke wasn't sure what she kept saying. She could still see the dirt flying up around her feet and hear the dull thuds of the bullets hitting soil. Would they have made the same sound if they had hit her flesh instead?

She had to get a grip. She was being worse than useless out here--if she couldn't focus, she would hold Lexa and her squad back. With Nyko staying behind at the other containment wall, it was only the four Marines and Clarke. They could use as much help as they could get. The nearby gunshots had stopped, but Clarke knew that it was only a matter of time before they found another target and began shooting again.

“Where's Anya?” Blake whispered to Indra into the newly found quiet.

“I haven't seen her,” Indra replied. “We need to work without her and the rest of the squad for now. They could already be down for all we know.”

Clarke edged closer to Lexa. “What's the plan?”

Lexa gave her a worried look. “We'll provide cover fire while the other three move closer to the gate, or what's left of it. Hitting your target isn't the most important. Shooting and making them think you'll hit them is.”

“As confident as ever in my shooting abilities,” Clarke said darkly, just managing to hold the panic in her chest down.

“On my signal,” Indra commanded.

Clarke gulped. She didn't know if she was ready for this. But she had to be. She didn't have a choice. Clarke kneeled on one side of the wall and raised her M9, ensuring the magazine was seated, safety was off, one round was in the chamber…. She tried to remember her training and what Lexa had shown her. She looked over to the Marine and hoped that her fear didn't show in her eyes. She was sure it did. Lexa nodded once to her, before refocusing on her gunsights and what could lay beyond in the dark and smoke.

Indra motioned forward with her hand, and she, Lincoln, and Blake shot forward in low crouches, weapons raised and sighted. Clarke tried to keep their motion in the corner of her eye, as she scanned the wreckage of the gate for any sign of… there.

He was back-lit by a section of debris that was still on fire, just visible over one of the roadblocks that he was crouching behind. Clarke couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a gun muzzle resting on top of the road block.

She took a deep breath.

Focused her sights.

Exhaled.

Slowly squeezed the trigger with the tip of her finger.

A single crack of gunfire from Clarke's left announced that Lexa had opened fire. It was just a couple of shots, in quick succession. The man disappeared behind the roadblock, but whether to take cover or because he had been hit, it was impossible to tell.

That set off urgent yelling back and forth between multiple men on the other side of the gate, as well as among the three Marines who found cover behind a guard shack.

And that's when it started. Another explosion filled the ruined gate with a thick pall of smoke, glowing orange in the remaining fires from the previous attack. Clarke heard yelling in a language she didn't understand, and several men gradually became apparent, emerging from the smoke. They carried assault rifles in front of them, and some of them… they wore vests thick with explosives.

“Shoot the ones with the vests!” Lexa yelled at her, but Clarke didn't need any prompting to know that these were the men who were trying to cause as many fatalities as possible in the camp.

There was no more time for hesitation. Clarke squeezed the trigger over and over, telling herself to relax her breathing, but that was a lost cause. Clarke was faintly aware that Lexa’s rifle was sounding regularly on the other side of the wall. But Clarke was lost in what seemed like an endless stream of men running, triggers being pulled, shouting, and blasting of weapons.

But that was nothing like the explosion that followed. One of the running men had found the trigger on his vest, and Clarke had to hide behind the wall in the sudden burst of light and debris. She heard shrapnel crashing into the wall above her head from the other side, and the air was suddenly hot all around her. She crouched as small as her body could manage and covered her head with both hands, hoping that this miniscule attempt at self defense would be enough in the face of a suicide bomber. She slammed her eyes shut, not even having enough time to check on Lexa to make sure she was OK.

When the painful blast in her ears was replaced with an insistent ringing, Clarke uncovered her head and looked over to Lexa. She was on her hands and knees, shaking her head as she rose up to her feet, her rifle on the ground at her feet.

But she wasn't alone.

“Lexa!” Clarke shouted as she saw the man approaching her from behind. He held an assault rifle in front of him, and his eyes were fixed on Lexa. He was raising the rifle. With Lexa still recovering from the explosion, there was nothing the Marine could do to deal with the attacker in time.

But Clarke's weapon was already raised, her eye aligned with the sights. She thought it odd, that after nearly hyperventilating while running to here under enemy fire, she now had her breathing completely under control.

She held her breath for a moment that seemed to last forever, the man's weapon slowly taking aim at Lexa.

Clarke squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice.

The crack of her pistol firing, and the recoil reverberating through her arms shocked her back into reality. Suddenly everything was happening too fast.

The man's limp body had fallen onto Lexa, and she pushed him off of her with a shout. She was already on her feet again, then suddenly standing by Clarke's side.

Gunshots sounded like they were coming from all around her, but Clarke couldn't seem to move. She was startled when she felt Lexa's hand on her outstretched arms, which were still holding the pistol in firing position in front of her.

“Clarke, it's alright now. You got him. You can put the gun down.”

But Clarke barely heard her. She stared straight ahead, the dead man's body finally coming into focus, the blood soaking through his clothes and pooling under his body making her gag.

Lexa pushed more insistently on her arms, forcing Clarke's arms down until she was holding the pistol at her side.

She had done it. She had saved Lexa. But the man's open, glossy eyes stared straight through her.

Clarke had to escape those dead eyes. She closed her own, but she could still see them, life draining away. She didn't know when her lower lip had begun quivering. “I had to do it, Lexa. He was going to shoot you, and I tried to warn you, but he was too close, and you were still stunned from the explosion--"

“I know, Clarke. Thank you.” Slinging her weapon at her side, she grabbed Clarke's shoulders with both hand. “You did the right thing. But there might be more of those guys around, and we need to keep you safe.”

At that moment, GySgt Anya came running out of one of the nearby command buildings holding a handheld radio. Seeing the both of them, she ran over and took shelter behind the wall as well. She glared at the dead man's body. “Nice work, Carey. One less asshole in Afghanistan.”

“It wasn't me.” Lexa murmured, glancing meaningfully over at Clarke.

“What the hell is she even doing here.” Anya brought the radio up to her mouth and keyed the mic. “Lima 1, Oscar 15. I found her. I'll bring her back, over.” The radio crackled to life a second later with someone acknowledging.

Clarke heard this all happening, but in a detached way, like it was happening to someone else. She let Anya lead her away, Lexa’s eyes wide with concern.

She had killed a man. And remembering the green of Lexa’s eyes--so vibrant and alive compared to the dead man's vacant stare--Clarke knew that she had to do it, that she did what was necessary to save Lexa’s life. And she would do it all again, if she had to.

She looked down at her hands and was surprised to see how clean they were. Then why did she feel like she would never be able to wash away that man's blood?

 


	13. Monster in your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke struggles. The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winter holidays mean more writing! I tried to balance the angsty bits with some more light-hearted moments, and I hope the transition between them isn't too jarring. Current planning predicts 16 chapters total, so we're nearing the end ever so slowly.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Lexa, 0647:** clarke are you ok? where are you?

**Clarke, 0801:** Back in Kandahar.

**********

The Toyota SUV rattled along the unpaved road, which was clogged with traffic and airborne dust during the evening rush hour. Clarke almost laughed at the banality of it. How did people still work 9-to-5's in a war zone? There were no families to rush back to, no shops to visit in the final minutes before they closed. Keeping a normal office schedule was just an attempt to cover the fact that they were at war, to forget the wounds they were inflicting on this country… and on themselves. 

Clarke stared out the window, thinking all of these things while trying her best to not consciously think of anything at all. If she thought about things, she would start crying again. There was no time or patience for tears out here, and she didn't want to put LtCol Abby or their driver, A1C Monty, through the awkwardness of dealing with a sniveling girl in the backseat. 

With the stop-and-go traffic, the air conditioner was blowing warm air that had Clarke sweating within seconds of getting in the vehicle. They were on their way from the passenger terminal in Kandahar back to the squadron, having caught the first flight out of Bastion after airfield operations had resumed. The runway in Bastion had been shut down for safety precautions until daybreak after the attack the evening before. Marines who had just spent hours repelling the attack had the tedious task of police calling the entire camp, checking for any unexploded ordinance or debris. Clarke was sure that many people in the camp wouldn’t sleep for days. 

She knew she wouldn’t. But perhaps for different reasons.

“So how long did the attack last, Colonel?” Monty asked, wide-eyed. 

This is what Clarke had been afraid of. Of course A1C Monty wanted to hear all about the attack. He was normally stuck in an office all day, performing the same task over and over again, in support of a war that he only vaguely experienced from the comfort of a base large enough to be called a city. Of course he wanted to know what it was like out there, “in the thick of it,” fighting an enemy he would never see. 

Clarke focused as hard as she could on the aircraft hangars that they were slowly passing, trying to ignore his questions and LtCol Abby's responses. She could feel the panic rising inside of her, just below the surface. She simultaneously wanted to never speak of it again and scream about it at the top of her lungs, so that everyone knew and would stop wondering what was wrong with her. She wondered if anyone would be able to tell, just by looking at her, that she watched the life drain out of a person's body, and that she had caused it, and that she would do it all over again if she had to.

The sound of LtCol Abby saying her name brought Clarke back inside the car. “Sergeant Griffin actually saved a Marine's life over there from one of the attackers.” 

Monty turned around in the driver’s seat so quickly to look at Clarke that he almost crashed the car. “Wait, what? How did you manage that? And why didn't you tell me this like 20 minutes ago? I want to hear everything.” 

Clarke couldn't tell him, especially with him acting like a six-year-old listening to how Santa travels around the world in a sleigh to deliver presents. “Maybe later, Monty. I'm pretty tired.”

It wasn't even a lie--she was exhausted, having gotten no sleep the night before. She wanted to blame it on the .50 cal fire, and missiles, and grenade launchers, and the general mayhem that accompanies the annihilation of the enemy by the United States of America, but she knew that wasn't the reason. 

“Aww,” Monty complained, turning back to the front. The line of cars was finally starting to move again. “I want to hear all about heroic Griffin. It's a rare thing to have a badass Airman in your midst, you know.” 

Badass. Is that really what people thought shooting a man felt like? She had a whole list of adjectives to describe how she felt, but badass was not one of them.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the squadron compound, where there was already a gaggle of people in flight suits and ABUs. They should have all been working at this time of morning, but instead it looked like they were waiting for someone.

Clarke froze when she realized that they were waiting for her. She just wanted to go back to her room and stare at the wall in the dark and think about nothing for the rest of her life. She didn't know how to deal with this, with all of their questions and enthusiasm. 

“Hey look, they’re here!” Clarke heard SSgt Jasper yelling outside of the car as Monty parked next to the compound’s chain-link fence.

Clarke took a deep breath. She could do this--she had to. She stepped out of the car and was immediately greeted by a cacophony of cheering from the Airmen gathered there. Jasper popped a bottle of champagne that he got God knew where, the noise ringing out around the compound like a gunshot. 

“If it isn’t our very own hero!” Jasper proclaimed, holding the bottle as far away from his body as he could as it bubbled over. The others around him--SrA Reyes, A1C Wells, 1Lt Bellamy, and even SrA Murphy--echoed his sentiment and looked at Clarke expectantly. 

Clarke just stood there. She was faintly aware when their grins twitched, dropped slightly, Raven’s most of all. All Clarke wanted to do was throw the champagne bottle against the ground and shatter it into a million pieces, wanted to yell and scream that she wasn’t some goddamn hero and that she may have been broken and didn’t know how to put herself together again. Most of all, she wanted to sink into the sandy ground she was standing on and disappear forever. 

But she couldn’t do any of those things. And with morale being what it was while deployed--nearly non-existent, precarious--she wanted to protect what little managed to exist with everyone working long days and being away from their loved ones for so many months. She could be strong, for them. Even if she couldn’t be strong for herself.

She put on the largest smile she could, knowing that it didn’t touch her eyes. It was the best she could do. “Where did you manage to find a bottle of champagne out here, Jasper?” 

His shoulders sagged visibly, the tension from the moment escaping. “Oh you know me, I’ve got friends in high places.” 

Monty went into a coughing fit next to Clarke, which made Jasper roll his eyes.

“Fine, fine, Monty was the mastermind behind this one,” Jasper admitted. “But I’m the one who convinced Lieutenant Bellamy we should be allowed to drink on the job.”

“Woah, easy there,” Bellamy protested. “None of us are on duty right now--”

“I am,” SrA Murphy interrupted.

Bellamy just glared at him. “And second of all, if you guys try to implicate me in any of this, I will admit nothing.”

“Can we just drink already?” Murphy whined, grabbing the disposable cups that someone must have stolen from the chow hall. “If I don’t get at least a little buzzed, then hanging out with you guys was for nothing.”

“Shut up, Murphy,” everyone said at the same time.

Still, that encouraged Jasper to pour what ended up being just a few mouthfuls of champagne into everyone’s cups, and everyone held them up in Clarke’s direction. “To Griffin, the kicker of asses and taker of names!”

“To Griffin!” Everyone cheered as they knocked back the champagne. 

Clarke drank the champagne all at once, wishing that she had more. It would be nice to be drunk and encompassed in that hazy, shifting world that ended in a dreamless sleep. But now wasn’t the time.

“So, do we get to hear your side of the story?” Wells asked, wiping champagne from his lips. “All we got was an email from the Marine command in Bastion saying you saved someone’s life over there yesterday.”

“There’s not much more to the story than that,” Clarke lied smoothly.

Before anyone could demand more, LtCol Thelonious stepped out from the tent on the other side of the compound, all authority and solemnity tempered by the tiredness that ran through everyone who was deployed. “Sergeant Griffin! I’ve been waiting for you. Come to my office.”

“Right away, sir.” Clarke ran a hand over her hair. If there was anyone that she wanted to talk to less than a group of adoring fans, it was the commander. 

Jasper’s face had gone white, and he didn’t let out the breath he had been holding until the colonel returned into the tent. He brought out the champagne bottle from behind his back with a sigh. “That was close. Way too close.” 

“Maybe we should move this party to the smoke pit?” Monty offered.

“Brilliant as always, Monty.” Jasper turned to Clarke. “And you’ll come tell us how it was being all awesome and heroic and everything, right Griffin?” 

“As soon as I’m done with the commander, sure,” Clarke smiled half-heartedly. 

The others made their way to the smoke pit that was elevated above the rest of the compound by a latticework of wooden beams. But Raven stuck behind, crossing her arms in front of herself and tilting her head. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not now, Raven.” Clarke was steeling herself to go talk to the commander, preparing what she would say to him--and what she wouldn’t say to him.

“Hey.” Raven grabbed her arm, bringing Clarke’s full attention on her. “Don’t shut me out like that. You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever happened over there, it’s got you pretty shaken up. And I’m here for you, Clarke, whatever you need.” 

Clarke smiled sadly at her. She really didn’t deserve a friend as good as Raven. “Don’t get all sentimental with me, Reyes. I really can’t handle it right now.” 

It was meant as a joke, but Raven’s piercing stare implied that she knew it wasn’t. “You probably shouldn’t keep the commander waiting.” 

Clarke nodded, sighing to herself, and approached the command tent. Every step brought her closer to the monster in her head that had been screaming at her ever since it had happened. She had been covering her ears and closing her eyes and pretending that it wasn’t there, but now she would have to confront the beast, at her commander’s bidding. 

Inside the tent, she knocked once on LtCol Thelonious’ door. 

“Come in, Sergeant Griffin.” 

Clarke marched in and stood at attention in front of his desk, but she and the colonel weren’t alone. A two-star general, stocky and commanding, extended his hand to her. He looked like the the type who woke up at zero dark thirty every day to do pull-ups and run ten miles. Clarke shook his hand, which nearly enveloped hers completely

“I’m Major General Shumway, commander of the 455th Air Expeditionary Wing. I’m here to personally congratulate you on your achievements, Sergeant Griffin. From what I’ve been told, you saved a Marine’s life and performed calmly under fire. That is no small feat for an aeromedical technician.” 

“I just did what needed to be done, sir,” Clarke said, still standing stiffly.

“Relax, sergeant.” The general took a seat in one of the chairs opposite LtCol Thelonious and gestured for Clarke to do the same. “I’d like to hear exactly what happened. We received a report from the battalion, but it was vague on the details.” 

Clarke sat down slowly, realizing that there was no way out of this. Maj Gen Shumway didn’t seem the type to take no for an answer. 

“There were explosions,” Clarke began, staring at the desk. “Bastion was getting attacked, and L--a Marine and I rushed over to where we could still see the fires and hear the gunshots. We met up with others from her unit, and we got closer to the site of the explosions, where the gate used to be. We just wanted to make sure that no one was able to run through the hole in the fence. But they did, and there was a lot of shooting, and one of them had a vest that went off, and then there was a man in front of us and I shot him. I just shot him.” Clarke’s voice was so monotone, she hardly recognized it as her own. “He died, and the Marine didn’t. That’s all there is to it. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” 

Major General Shumway stared at her for a long time with no expression. “One man? Armed? Confirmed Taliban?” 

“He was pointing a weapon at the Marine, sir. That was all the information I needed.”

Turning to LtCol Thelonious, Maj Gen Shumway looked thoughtful. “She might be able to get the Bronze Star for this. What do you think?” 

“Definitely,” Thelonious nodded. “If a Finance Tech Sergeant can get it for doing paperwork, she should have no problem.”

“True, true,” the general pondered. “Maybe we can set her up with AFN for an interview. She's pretty. Good publicity for us and vilifies the enemy at the same time. Could be perfect for glossing over that hospital incident a few weeks back.” 

Hospital “incident?” Clarke's hackles rose when she realized he meant a bombing last month that killed dozens of innocent people and medical personnel in Kabul. He was no doubt the type of person to use the term “collateral damage” unironically. She didn't want to be in the same room as him, let alone help him in his quest of distracting the media from the mistakes being made in this war. 

“With all due respect, sir,” Clarke interjected before he could make more plans for her that would make her skin crawl, “this isn't an event that I would like to discuss with reporters. I did it because I had to, not because I wanted to be a hero.” 

The officers nodded at each other, LtCol Thelonious saying “That's exactly the type of soundbite that we could use.” 

“Brilliant. She's made for this sort of thing. Golden blonde hair, blue eyes, but tough, unstoppable. A true war hero. They're gonna eat that up.” 

“Have you ever killed anyone, General?” The question rang in the sudden silence, and Clarke was just as surprised as the other two that she had asked it. 

He squared his shoulders under her quiet scrutiny. “I've been in the Air Force for nearly 30 years. I've ordered hundreds of people to die. What is your point, Sergeant?” 

“But have you ever done it yourself, sir?” Clarke knew she was overstepping, but she needed to know if he understood. “Have you ever pulled the trigger, seen the blood and the life draining out of them?” 

The general turned back to LtCol Thelonious. “Make sure she's trained before the reporter comes. She can't be saying things like that.” 

“Of course, sir. I'll see to it myself, if need be.” 

“Dismissed, Sergeant,” Maj Gen Shumway said curtly, his mouth a thin line. “Thank you for your service and dedication to this country.” 

Clarke tried and failed to control her anger, as she about-faced and stormed out of the room. She ignored the curious stares from the other crew members in the squadron and shot out the door, letting it slam behind her.

Raven stood a short distance away with her arms crossed “Yo, Griffin, what's wrong?” 

“Just leave me alone, Raven.” 

Clarke walked as fast as her body could take her out of the squadron. She could have broken into a run, could have shrugged off her shoulder holster and her responsibilities and all of the ridiculous mind games that were tied up in this war. She could have run and run, then climbed over the fence and kept running away from base and everything she hated there.

Did no one care that she would never be able to sleep again? Or that she did the one thing she never thought she would do as an aeromedical technician: intentionally end someone’s life? 

********** 

**Lexa, 0918:** I’m glad you’re ok.

**Lexa, 0925:** I tried to find you once things settled down. But I didn’t know where they had sent you.

**Lexa, 0928:** i wanted to say goodbye

**********

Clarke collapsed onto her twin-sized bed, face down into the pillow. If she imagined hard enough, she could still pick up the tiniest scent of Lexa. She inhaled deeply once, twice. It was comforting, even if she was probably making it up.

It was approaching noon, and Clarke figured that Lexa would be busy rebuilding Bastion with the rest of the Marines, but she had to hear her voice. It was the only thing besides the faint trace of her on her pillow that could soothe her. 

It rang several times, and Clarke thought it was going to voicemail, when she finally heard Lexa's voice, calm and clear. “Clarke.” 

That's all it took. The tears that Clarke had been managing to keep at bay all day were suddenly pouring from her eyes, and there was no way she could stop them now. 

“Clarke, are you crying? What's going on?” Then fainter, “Doc, can you give me a second? This is important.” 

Clarke barely heard another woman's voice. “You're all done anyway, Sergeant. Here's your form 2808.” 

“Thanks, Doc--I owe you one.” A few seconds of shuffling later, Lexa's voice returned, full of concern. “OK Clarke, I'm here. You’re back in Kandahar? Tell me what's going on.” 

Clarke had managed to regain some semblance of control. She held the phone against her face, as she curled up on her bed, the pillow beneath her head already soaked. “I can't get him out of my head, Lex.” 

Lexa took a long moment to think. “The man you shot.”

The man I shot. That brought fresh tears to Clarke's eyes, and she squeezed them shut as tight as she could. “God, Lexa, I just want to forget about him. I want to pretend that it never happened. Or just accept that I didn't have a choice--”

“You didn't.” 

“Or that he deserved it, he had it coming for what he was doing to the base and what he was about to do to you,” Clarke continued, unabated. 

“He did deserve it. You did the right thing, Clarke. He was going to kill me.” 

“Yeah, but…” Clarke struggled to piece together her feelings into coherent words. “How can you be so calm about that? He could have shot you, Lexa. He would have killed you, if I had hesitated for another second.” 

“It's part of the job, Clarke” she said in a maddeningly calm voice. “When you're a Marine, you know that it can come to that. And when you're in danger, again, and again, and again, you just accept it. It's normal. Of course people are trying to kill you. But that's why you kill them first.” 

“But aren't you worried?” Clarke whispered, voicing thoughts that she had never imagined before. “Aren't you worried about what that's doing to you? How you'll ever go back to being a normal person after this is done?” 

“This will never be done,” Lexa said softly, sighing into the phone. “Once it begins, it never stops. There is no going back, Clarke. I haven't forgotten any of it. And I don't think I ever will.” 

“Do you want to? Forget?” 

Lexa took a long time in answering. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“It cheapens their lives, let's them be just another statistic. It neglects that they had friends, and families, and lives before this war began.” 

“Kind of like us,” Clarke offered.

“Kind of like us. Except we can go home at the end of all of this, to a country that isn't being torn apart. Everyone here is stuck. It's all they have. Maybe I'd be fighting too.” 

Clarke just listened to Lexa breathing for a long while. “He was going to kill you, Lexa.” 

“I know,” she said softly. “Thank you. I don't think I could stand being shot in the head again.” 

Clarke heard the joke, and registered it as such, but her body had no reaction to it. She grew very still. “How did you deal with it? The first time?”

Lexa let out a deep sigh. “The first person I killed was a sniper. He was on the second story of a nearby compound, and he had already hit two in my squad. I climbed to the roof without the sniper noticing and shot him. When we searched his compound for any other militants, I found his body. He was 15, maybe 16. He hadn’t even started growing facial hair yet.”

“Lexa…” Clarke didn’t want her to have to re-live this, but Lexa continued.

“I just told myself I had to do it. It was my duty--and that’s true. He could have killed someone in my squad if I hadn’t stopped him. It was what I had trained for. It’s who I am. We all do what we must.” Her voice became quiet, so quiet that Clarke had to strain to hear her. “But I still remember his face. I think I know it better than my own by now. I still dream about him. Sometimes I’m shooting him point-blank, over and over. Sometimes I miss my shot, and he kills everyone in my squad. 

“I’m sorry.” Clarke knew the words were insufficient, but they were all she had. “We won’t ever be the same again, will we? Not after everything we’ve done.”

Lexa sighed again. “No, we won’t. But we need to focus on getting home safely now. You’re almost done with your deployment, right?”

“If you count two months left as ‘almost done.’”

“You can’t complain to a Marine about your six-month deployments. I still have ten months left.”

“Right,” Clarke grimaced. “Sorry.”

Lexa laughed softly. “But it’s been a memorable two months so far. Almost getting shot… actually getting shot… finding a nice girl who laughs at my jokes more than half the time. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But Clarke… we’re going to get through this.”

Clarke took a deep, steadying breath. “I'm going to hold you to that.” 

“As you should. Marines always keep their promises. Semper fidelis and all that shit.” 

Clarke rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “Thank you, Lexa. It’s hard to talk to anyone here about it. I don’t think they would understand.”

“It's alright. I'm always here for you.” 

“You sap,” Clarke managed to joke, despite everything. 

“I have to go, Clarke. Gunny’s looking like she might murder me for taking so long in medical.” 

“In medical? Is everything OK?” 

“I just got cleared for duty,” Lexa explained quickly. “Blake won’t be able to complain about me slacking off anymore.”

“Bye, Lexa… stay safe.”

“Look who's being a sap now.”

***********

Clarke continued laying in bed for what felt like forever, staring absently at the wall. She let Lexa's words flow through her and tried to cover up the emotions inside of her that threatened to spill out again at any time. She knew it wouldn't be easy to keep on, day after day, knowing the violence that she was capable of. But she had to try. 

She heard the door of the room next to her own unlock, squeak open, and close gently. Raven was back. 

Clarke burst out of bed, finding her boots and not bothering to tie them up properly. She left her room and knocked lightly on Raven's door, which opened almost immediately. 

“Hey.” Raven said brusquely. 

“Hey,” Clarke returned, hugging her arms around herself. “I didn't mean to be such a bitch earlier.” 

“You were a bitch. But it also sounds like you have your reasons.” 

“I think so, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you.” 

Raven looked at her sideways. “Is this an… apology, Clarke?” 

“Just shut up and hang out with me,” Clarke grumbled as she barged past Raven into her room. It was much cleaner now than it had been right after Blake's departure to Bastion. But on top of her bed, there was a bucket, a couple of soap containers, and… a cucumber? 

“Um, Raven? Do I even want to know?” 

“It isn't what you think,” Raven said quickly, taking the cucumber into her hand. “But if you hadn't come back today and apologised, who knows what might have happened… A lonely, hot as fuck Airman, a perfectly shaped cucumber, not too thick, not too thin--”

“Maybe I should go and give you two some privacy.” Clarke feigned leaving, but Raven held her back. 

“Buuuut since you almost said the word sorry for shooting me down earlier when I was just trying to help, I guess we can use this fruit for something else.”

“Not salad, I hope. Cucumbers just aren’t that tasty.” 

“Filthy, Clarke.” She pretended to suck off the cucumber. “And just when I thought you were too pure for this world... “ 

Clarke laughed for what felt like the first time in months. “You know you've been deployed for too long when two girls who are dating other girls are making dick jokes.” 

“I'll stop making dick jokes when I'm dead.” Raven sat down on the bed and patted next to her with a hand, inviting Clarke to join her. “But let's not get carried away with all this talk about ‘dating.’ It's just good, old-fashioned fun.” 

Clarke sat down next to her with a huff. “If you call being worried sick about them all the time fun.” 

Raven thought about it for a moment. “Yeah that part of it is pretty shitty, but I think we are still coming out ahead.” 

“So... “ Clarke drawled, picking up the yellow bucket from the bed. “Were you planning on mopping your room or what?”

“Never. You know me better than that.” She arranged the soap containers, bucket, and cucumber in a neat row. ‘These are all the ingredients for a kickass spa day.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Raven sprung up from the bed and crossed the room to her desk, turning on her laptop. “I've been planning this for a while, but it seems like there’s no better time than the present.”

A soothing, atmospheric song with ocean waves began playing from the laptop. Normally, Clarke might laugh at it, or at least laugh at Raven for having music like this, but after the last two days… 

Clarke had remained silent for a long stretch, earning a concerned look from Raven. “Is it too much?” she asked. “There's another one with some didgeridoos that you might like better.” 

“No, Raven, it's perfect.” She lay back on the bed. “All of this is perfect. Thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I just didn’t want to deal with angry, emo Clarke anymore. Hang tight for a minute.”

Raven boiled water in a kettle, mixed in cooler water from the bathroom, and added some soap. She placed the bucket on her chair and pulled it over, so they could both dunk their feet in it while laying on the bed.

With a green tea face mask applied, cucumber slices placed on her eyes, her feet dunked in water that smelled like lavender, and the crashing of the waves in her ears, Clarke let out a long sigh. “Raven… you are a goddess amongst mortal women.” 

“Not the first time I've heard that.” She spat out a little. “Ugh, I think I got some of this cream in my mouth. The fuck is this, anyway?”

Clarke made sweeping gestures with her hands. “Such eloquence! Unparalleled regality! All envy her for her effortless majesty.” 

Raven removed one cucumber slice to glare at her properly. “Keep this up, and I will never invite you to girl's spa day ever again.” 

“Of course. You have loads of other people you could spa with. Jasper would be dreamy. Or what about Murphy? Now that guy knows how to charm a lady.” 

“Fine. I will keep you around out of sheer necessity.” 

“If that's not the definition of friendship, then I don't know what is. Where did you get all of this stuff anyway? Other than the janitor’s closet.” 

“Only the bucket, Clarkey.” Raven leaned in closer, as if she had a juicy secret. “I want you to guess who in the squadron had the bath gels and face masks.” 

Clarke considering for a moment. “That girl in life support? What's her name?” 

“Hint: is a man.” 

“Ohhhh this got more interesting. Monty.” 

“No.” 

“Wells?”

“No. Who is always the best groomed out of everyone and sometimes smells floral?” 

Clarke's mind raced for a minute. “Oh my God, is it Bellamy?” 

“Bingo,” Raven grinned. “I saw him opening a care package a few weeks ago full of fancy soap. From his mom! He made me swear not to tell anyone.” 

“So you blackmailed him. Silence in exchange for some of the goods.” 

“I mean, it's Sephora. There's no way in hell I'm gonna let him enjoy it all to himself this whole deployment.”

Clarke nodded solemnly. “It was unjust for him to keep it all to himself. He should share with the enlisted working class.” 

Over time, the music transitioned from crashing waves to chirping birds to the nighttime serenade of crickets and frogs. Clarke could feel herself beginning to doze off, but Raven broke the silence with a quiet question. “Did you see her?” 

“Lexa? For most of the three days over there. It was… nice. I couldn't say it, though. I had the perfect chance to suggest we should be girlfriends, but I just couldn't. It's like, part of me is too scared that something is going to happen out here and ruin everything.”

“Sounds like something already happened, from the intel I've gathered today. And don't worry, you don't have to talk to me about it unless you want to.” 

“Thanks, Raven. I will, one of these days. Just… not right now. Not with pieces of a cucumber dildo on my eyes.” 

“Fair enough.” Raven was silent again for a long time. “I was actually asking about Octavia.” 

“Oh.” Clarke was grateful for the mask hiding her reddening cheeks. “I saw her too. She looks good. Really good, actually.”

“Wait, what is that supposed to mean?” Raven asked in confusion, sitting up. 

Clarke realized that she probably shouldn't have mentioned this part of the trip. “I just saw her in the shower. Wasn't a big deal.” 

“Uh huh. Who else was naked in this shower?” 

“Well, after Octavia finally left, I think you can guess.” 

Raven punched her in the arm. “Typical Griffin, using a business trip as an excuse for a booty call.”

Clarke looked offended. “As if you wouldn't do the same thing.”

“Of course I would. Not the point. You're an NCO and supposed to be an example of the Air Force Core Values for young, impressionable Airmen like me.” 

“Can a respectable NCO still tell you that your special Marine friend is hot?”

“You can. But if you look at her again, I'll punch your lights out.” 

Clarke laughed at her. “Totally jealous over your totally not-girlfriend. Got it.” 

Raven splashed some of the lukewarm water at her out of the bucket, which started a low-key water fight. At least her room would smell like lavender for a while.

********** 

Clarke woke in her bed with a start, limbs curled tightly into the sheets and drenched in sweat. She was panting, but she couldn't remember any part of her dream. Still, the panic and dread were slow to dissipate. 

She disentangled herself from the sheets and checked her phone. Almost 3am. Was this how it was going to be from now on? 

The metallic glint from her M9 caught her eye in the sliver of artificial light that made it through her window blinds. She leaned over and covered it with her flight jacket that was hanging on the chair, but just the brief sight if it was enough to bring back a deluge of feelings from the night before--had it only been one day ago? 

Clarke settled back into bed and pulled the sheet over her head, despite sweat still coating her forehead. Laying there in the dark, she told herself over and over again that it had been necessary. Justified. Unavoidable. The words piled up in the pit of her stomach, growing heavier and heavier, and she wondered how much larger this burden could become.

She finally drifted off again just as the sun was beginning to show a fresh pink at the horizon, but Clarke only hoped that her sleep would be dreamless and empty.

**********

“Clarke. Clarke!” 

Hands clenched into fists, Clarke awoke all at once. She stopped herself from swinging upward with her fist just in time, when she saw that Raven was standing over her, brow furrowed. 

“Come on, Clarke, you’ve got ten minutes until show time.” 

Clarke sat up in her bed fast enough to send blood rushing to her head.. “What? I’m flying today? 

“Yeah, crazy. Didn’t you check the schedule yesterday?”

Shit. No she hadn’t. She had been so overwhelmed after speaking with the general and commander yesterday that she hadn’t even thought about when she would have to return to work.

“Ten minutes?” 

“Nine now.” 

Clarke rubbed the last sleep from her eyes and pulled on a clean tan shirt from her wall locker. A minute later, she had her flight suit zipped, her boots tied, and her dog tags around her neck. She hesitated while reaching for her shoulder holster, but shrugged it on and told her mind to relax. But as long as she was wearing that gun, she didn’t know how she possibly could relax. She imagined that her pistol should have felt a little lighter with one less bullet contained inside the magazine, but it felt heavier than ever. It flopped painfully into her hipbone as she and Raven rushed out of the dormitory. 

By the time they reached the operations desk inside the command tent, Clarke and Raven were both out of breath. Major Kane, operations supervisor for the day shift, glared at them from the other side of his desk. “You’re late.” 

“I forgot my ID card in my room, sir,” Raven explained hastily. “Sergeant Griffin helped me find it.”

He turned his attention to Clarke. “You need to take better care of the Airmen in your crew.” 

“Of course, sir. It won’t happen again,” Clarke promised, glancing over to Raven.

“See that it doesn’t. Especially since your crew position is in such high demand at the moment.”

Clarke frowned at him. “What do you mean, sir?”

 

Major Kane raised his eyebrow at her as if she were an idiot. “Wells is only a few hours away from breaking the maximum flying hours for the month, and Fox isn’t far behind. Sending you to Bastion and making the other medics pick up your flights may have been a mistake.” 

That took Clarke by surprise. It was almost unheard of for aircrew members to reach maximum hours, but the medivac technician position in their squadron was quite undermanned. “Well, I’m here now, and keeping busy is really all that I want to do.” 

“Perfect,” Kane said, giving her and Clarke their communication cards for their flight. “Your briefing is in five minutes.” 

As soon as they were back outside the tent, Clarke stopped Raven with a hand on her arm and looked at her sheepishly. “Thanks for covering my ass back there. You shouldn’t have taken the fall for me though.”

“Yes I should have.” Raven tucked a stray strand of blonde hair that hadn’t made it into Clarke’s bun in her haste to get ready that morning behind her ear. “Because now I can hold it against you forever. And you’d do the same to me.” 

Clarke smiled slightly, the most she seemed capable of managing right now. “I guess I would. Remember what you were like after the whole Finn thing?” 

Raven crossed her arms. “I’m retracting the offer to help you out right now.”

“I had to physically hold you back from punching him every time he even looked at another girl.” 

“I was usually very drunk when that happened,” Raven justified. “Squadron outings to the bar never turn out well. Body shots off supervisors, DUIs, Tech Sergeant Fucktards getting punched in the face… it’s amazing we get anything done as a squadron out here with all the drama back home. I’m pretty sure everyone has fucked or fought at least one other person here.”

“Not me,” Clarke argued. “Despite all of Finn’s efforts.”

“Oh don’t act so holier-than-thou, Miss ‘I fell in love with a Marine at first sight.’”

“Who said anything about love,” Clarke grumbled. “Listen, we’ve got to go to our briefing. Unless you want to be late again.” 

“Lead the way. According to the Major, I’m your responsibility and you have to take care of me. So if I’m ever late again, it’s your fault.” 

Clarke just rolled her eyes. “Senior Airmen are such a pain in the ass. Enough rank to get out of most menial work, but not enough rank to get any real responsibility. I hate you.” 

“This could have been you, but you decided to go and pass that promotion test. Serves you right.” 

“Briefing, Reyes,” Clarke reminded her.

Raven sprung to attention next to her. “Yes, Staff Sergeant!”

************

According to their briefing, their flight would be nothing out of the ordinary: six soldiers from central Ghazni, injured in a booby-trapped house. Clarke wished it seemed more out of the ordinary, but this was part of her new normal. 

“Hey, Griffin,” Jasper called after her, just as she was exiting the briefing room. Everyone else in the crew had already left.

Clarke paused, glancing back at him. He wrung his hands then looped his thumbs into his shoulder harness. 

“Yeah, so..” He coughed, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Clarke. She needed to prepare for their flight and didn't have time for this. “Monty and I noticed you weren't too thrilled with everyone welcoming you back.” 

Clarke rubbed the back of her neck. “I was just tired from my trip,” she lied. 

“Yeah of course… but we wanted to let you know, if you need to talk to anyone….” 

“Thanks, Jasper. I appreciate it.”

Surprise suddenly covered his face. “Oh no, we're not saying to talk to us about it! But there is a chaplain floating around base somewhere. You should talk to her.” 

“Right. Well, if I ever want to have someone try to explain away my feelings with fairy tales, I know where to go.” 

“It might still be worth it to talk to someone with a different perspective. And she has lollipops in her office.” 

Clarke laid a steady stare on him. “Why didn't you say so sooner? I'll head right over.” 

Jasper moved to leave the briefing room and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just think about it, OK? She might be able to help. Or refer you to someone who can.” 

Clarke didn’t have time to go into detail about how flawed the mental health support offered to them was, and she knew that Jasper was only trying to help. “I'll think about it. For the lollipops.” 

He smiled at her wanly, leaving the tent to get his flight gear and prepare the aircraft for departure. 

Clarke remained in the doorway of the briefing room, the rest of the tent quiet except for the constant hiss of air through the air conditioning hose. Bastion was still so fresh in her head, and she thought Jasper's advice was premature. She would learn how to sleep again, would reconcile with what she had to do with time. She didn't need some nut job with captain's bars on her shoulders and a cross around her neck to tell her that “everything was for a reason.” Yes, the reason that man was dead was because she lodged two bullets in his chest, not because some invisible man in the sky foresaw it happening before the beginning of time. 

And besides, with friends like Raven, and Lexa being as supportive as she could be from hundreds of miles away, why while Clarke need anyone else? 

She squared her shoulders and focused on the mission ahead. Just another day in paradise. 

**********

When the C-130 aeromedical evacuation crew had safely landed that evening, unloaded the passengers, returned their flight equipment, and debriefed, Clarke trudged her way to her cubby, where she kept all of the belongings she couldn’t bring on her flight. She replaced her velcro name tape and organization patches and turned her phone back on. When she saw that she had received a voicemail, her heartbeat quickened. There were only a handful of people that could be from. 

Calling the voicemail number, Clarke waited impatiently as the menu played the options in some language she didn't understand, before it switched to an English menu riddled with grammatical mistakes. With each number she had to press, Clarke became more and more frustrated. She knew who had left the voicemail, and she didn’t want to imagine what could be so urgent to make her do so. 

The message finally began playing. “Clarke, you must be flying right now.” Lexa's voice filled every part of Clarke's mind. “Call me when you can. We're leaving on a mission… soon. Just call me when you land.” 

There was a long pause until the message ended. Clarke thought it held all of the things that had remained unsaid between them. She didn’t know when she ended up on the floor, but she was there, crouching against the row of cubbies, her phone held to her chest. 

It never ended. She had saved Lexa's life in Bastion, but the threats against her refused to stop. Would someone be there the next time to watch her back? It didn’t matter how talented the rest of her squad was--they couldn’t be everywhere at once, and Lexa had already been put in danger more times than Clarke wanted to think about. And with Lexa facing many more months of deployed life ahead of her, the risks were unlikely to decrease.

She took in a deep, quivering breath. She could be strong. She had to be strong. If not for herself, then for Lexa. For the second time in as many days, Clarke dialed her number and tried to ignore how desperately she needed to hear Lexa’s voice.


	14. Mustache Policing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert: deployed life continues to suck. Clarke has a hard time. Things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We crawl inexorably toward the end! Only a few chapters left, and there's so much more that has to be done/said. 
> 
> Thanks for all of the support--I've had a blast writing this, and it's so great to hear that you guys are enjoying it.

There was yet another rock jabbing into her back. Lexa reached under herself and pried it loose from the soil and tossed it to the side of the fighting hole. Already, she heard the snores of one of the Marines next to her. It was probably LCpl Nyko, who had a knack for falling asleep anywhere, including duty desks and defense outposts. It could be a pain in the ass, always having to awaken him from his near-narcolepsy, but it suited him when they were having to sleep in the dirt like tonight. Like they had been doing for the last week.

The fighting hole was barely large enough for Lexa to lay down in while wearing her body armor.  She had used her e-tool, a small folding shovel, to excavate it a couple of hours before, but it left much to be desired in terms of comfort. Comfort was not the goal--she was protecting herself from rocket and mortar fire, which could come at any time during the night. She and her squad of American and Royal Marines would occupy this compound for a few more hours before heading out at first light into the neighboring town. Despite their defenses, she didn't feel safe--none of them did. 

Lexa adjusted the helmet she was wearing, which served as her make-shift pillow. Her neck was already aching from having to wear the damn thing all day, and sleeping offered no reprieve. She sighed, realizing that there was another rock that was making itself more and more known in her back. But she tried her best to ignore it, knowing that she would end up digging halfway back to America if she tried to remove every uncomfortable rock from beneath herself. On second thought, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

Their operation into Marjah had gone smoothly enough so far: they had needed to disable four roadside IEDs, but hadn’t come under fire as of yet. Lexa suspected that trend wouldn’t last for long. Their attempt to re-occupy Marjah and arrest those in connection to the attack on Camp Bastion would only attract more attention as time progressed. They had already received word that another squad had received fire from a force at least 50-strong, and that it had taken three strafing runs from an AC-130 gunship to drive them off. It was a reminder for Lexa that superior training and equipment were only able to get you so far out there. 

That thought was not comforting.

Ever so faintly, Lexa could hear the whirring of helicopter blades in the distance. She may have imagined it, but she thought the ground rumbled beneath her. On the other side of the compound, LtCpl Blake’s radio chattered non-stop on low volume. It seemed that one of the other squads was having a significantly less peaceful evening.

Lexa almost--- _ almost _ \-- wished for that. At least then, with the crack of gunfire all around her and the screaming of hellfires raining down on the enemy, her mind would be less occupied by problems that she couldn’t solve.

Problems like Clarke and what she had gone through. 

Lexa knew all too well how Clarke was feeling after the attack at Bastion, and it was all because of her. She would have done anything to keep Clarke from that pain, the haunting nightmares of taking someone’s life. But she had been knocked to the ground after the explosion. She had wanted to get up, willed her body to respond, but all she could do was crouch there, helpless. She should have been faster. If she had gotten up faster, Clarke wouldn't have had to make that choice. And then, Lexa could have shot him.

Adding another name to the list of dead was always easier than starting a new list. She wished that Clarke hadn’t needed to start her list that night.

Before, on her first deployment, Lexa had tried to justify her actions to herself. She blamed the killing on duty, to her country and to her squad. Nothing was her fault, because nothing was for herself.

But later, Lexa had admitted the truth. It usually took times like these, laying in the darkness, hearing the sounds of conflict in the distance and half-wishing she was part of it. She admitted that some part of her enjoyed it, the conflict and the killing. She lived for moments like that, when she could fully unleash the unfathomable violence that roiled inside her chest.  In war, she could finally use the skills she had honed over years of merciless training to defeat those who dared to rise against her and her team. There was a certain thrill knowing the most efficient ways to end someone's life and actually carrying them out. 

She closed her eyes tightly, but not because sleep was overtaking her.  

Had she always been like this? Had she always lived for the fight, the conquest?

She supposed she had--her basketball coach in high school had needed to bench her on several occasions for what he called “over-competitiveness.” On her best days, Lexa had attacked the court with an energy that bordered on violent and intimidated the other team into submission. After those games, Lexa hadn’t been able to wipe the smile from her face. Sometimes, she couldn’t even sleep and instead paced around her room, reliving each moment until it almost seemed to form a solid piece of herself. 

Lexa imagined that she couldn’t sleep tonight for much the same reasons. But instead of basketball shots, her mind replayed rifle shots.  She analyzed her every move, her every decision in the field, identifying mistakes and ways to improve. 

She remembered the blood. She remembered the limbs scattered on the other side of the road than the body to which they had previously belonged. She remembered the faces of men--and women--who had chosen the wrong side in a fight they couldn’t win, or had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Her life had been simple when she had played basketball. It would never be simple again.

Unfastening the velcro on her breast pocket, Lexa removed two photos and held them in front of herself. Dark-haired Costia smiled up at her, mischief dancing in her eyes. Lexa still missed her, still wondered what kind of life they could have build together if not for this war. Lexa hoped that Costia would understand that no matter how long her list became, how many deaths she had to add to it, that she was still the same person that she had fallen in love with.

The other photo was of Clarke, sitting on a bench at Bastion, her lips slightly parted and her flight suit hugging her curves. Lexa hadn’t told her she was taking the photo and hadn’t shown it to her after the fact.  She had only taken two photos of Clarke. The other was a selfie from when they were drunk at the British compound in Kandahar, but this photo was her favorite. It showcased Clarke’s effortless beauty, her intelligence, her deep compassion. She rubbed a thumb down Clarke’s hair, trying to remember how it felt between her fingers and on her skin when the blonde had been curled up against her all those weeks ago. 

With sleep eluding her, she ran through her last conversation with Clarke once again. It had been five days ago and hours before Lexa had climbed into that CH-47 helicopter with her head tucked and gear rattling.

_ “Lexa!” Clarke’s voice struggled to hide her panic. “What's going on--it sounded really urgent. Are you OK?” _

_ “Breathe, Clarke!” Lexa chuckled into her phone, as she watched the rest of her squad writing letters, typing emails, and Skyping family. In one way or another, everyone was saying what could be their last goodbye. “Everything’s fine. But this is the last chance I’ll have to talk to you for a few weeks.” _

_ “What do you mean a few weeks? That doesn’t sound like a typical patrol.”  _

_ “OPSEC, Clarke,” Lexa reminded her. They always had to assume that someone could be eavesdropping on their phone conversations. They had to be careful to not divulge any mission details.  _

_ “I don’t give a rat’s ass about OPSEC right now.” The volume of Clarke’s voice had risen to the point that Lexa had to hold her phone an inch away from her ear to prevent herself from going deaf. “I didn’t even think you were cleared to go back on duty yet.” _

_ Lexa tried to sooth her, even if she suspected that was a losing battle. “Doc signed me off earlier today. I don’t think Blake would have allowed me to miss out on this anyway. She already thinks I bribed a general to get you out to Bastion. I found out a few hours ago I was leaving.” _

_ Clarke was silent for a long time, but Lexa didn’t interrupt her thoughts. She knew Clarke needed time to process. “You’re going to be doing a bunch of stupid Marine shit, aren’t you?" Clarke asked. "Talking to people who are probably hostile, getting rocketed, getting shot at….”  _

_ “The first part is guaranteed. The other parts will only happen if we get very lucky. Medals don’t grow on trees, Clarke. How else am I going to prove to my family that I did anything over here if I don’t have at least six rows of ribbons on my Class A’s?” _

_ Her attempt at humor  fell flat, as she could practically hear Clarke's eyes rolling. Lexa decided it was time to be earnest, as much as she hated it. “I’m going to be fine, Clarke. We both just need to hang on for a few more months, and then we’re out of here.” _

_ “Yeah, piece of cake.” Clarke laughed without humor. “I just have to fly every mission because all of the other medics are running out of hours, and get interviewed by some Air Force Network twat about how I shot a man, and wonder at every moment of every day if my girlfriend is safe or not. Won't even be a challenge, you're right.” _

_ Lexa held her breath. Every part of that rant was news to her, but she couldn’t get over the term that Clarke had chosen to use, and without hesitation. _ Girlfriend _? Had Clarke finally decided?  _

_ “Is that alright, Lexa?” Clarke hesitated. “I know I didn’t want to say it earlier, but I can’t deny what you mean to me anymore. I know it’s a shitty world out here, and anything can happen, but--” _

_ “Yes,” Lexa cut her off. As cute as Clarke could be when she rambled, Lexa was running out of time to talk with her before she had to get her gear inspected with the rest of her squad. “Yes, Clarke. I want to be your girlfriend. Do you want to be mine?” _

_ “I’m pretty sure that’s the way it works, crazy.” Just from the sound of her voice, Lexa knew the smile that was on Clarke’s face, and it made her heart swell. “But if you’re going to be my girlfriend, there are certain rules.” _

_ Lexa frowned. “Such as?” _

_ “Rule number one: no dying.” _

_ Lexa laughed as she watched Lincoln and Blake log off of their computers. There wasn’t much time left. “As long as these rules apply to the both of us, I agree. Are there any more rules? I’m afraid I don’t have much longer to talk.” _

_ “There’s definitely more, but they can wait. Rule number one is the most important. Don’t forget about it when you’re out there camping and making s'mores with the Afghans. Because that’s what you’re going to be doing, in my mind. Nice, relaxing, and most importantly,  _ safe _ activities.” _

_ “Fair enough.” The rest of her squad had already left the rec tent, meaning it was nearly time for their inspection. “I have to go, Clarke. I’m sorry to do this to you, to make you worry. You need to stay safe too. I expect to come back and find my girlfriend in perfect health.” _

_ “Alright. Just make sure someone’s watching your back. You have a bad habit of getting yourself in trouble.” _

_ “I’ll be fine. I’ll miss you, Clarke.” _

_ “I miss you already.”  _

_ “Goodbye, Clarke.” _

_ “Goodbye, Lexa.”  _

They had both stayed on the line for a few precious seconds. But finally, Lexa had to end the call and acknowledge that she wasn’t going to hear Clarke’s voice for a number of weeks.

She didn’t remember when that had become such an arduous task, not being able to hear Clarke's voice. But here Lexa was, only five days into her mission, and she had already pulled out Clarke’s photo and run through their last conversation a half-dozen times. Lexa told herself that she needed to focus, that she couldn’t let herself be distracted from her mission, but what was the point if she didn’t remember why she so desperately needed to make it back safely? 

Lexa stroked Clarke’s golden hair in the photo one final time before replacing the photos in her pocket. She had hoped that she would be closer to sleep after thinking about her girlfriend-- _ girlfriend _ . The term almost didn’t seem enough, but it would have to do for now.

Folding her fingers on top of her chest, Lexa nestled deeper into the fighting hole and sighed. Lincoln’s snores beside her rumbled through the air, but it had become an otherwise still night. The canvass of stars above shimmered and danced, slowly lulling her into a shallow sleep.

 

**********

 

Kandahar Airfield never slept. Even at two in the morning, fighter jets were being scrambled, helicopters were hovering, and jingle trucks were delivering their goods to supply centers. At least in this section of the base, filled with dorms and the odd medical office and chow hall, all was still. 

Clarke couldn’t sleep, but what else was new. She sat on the steps leading up to her dorm, gazing up at the stars. It was an especially clear night, lacking the usual dust that limited visibility and accompanied the stifling heat. But now, in mid-September, nights were finally cooling down and allowing Clarke to be outside without her clothes sticking to her skin. 

Watching the stars twinkling above her, Clarke wondered where Lexa was. If she was safe. If she was following the rules of being her girlfriend. She smiled to herself, but it was bittersweet. All it had taken for Clarke to finally ask Lexa to be her girlfriend was for the Marine to be sent onto a perilous mission into the heart of Taliban territory. While being deployed in Kandahar had its own challenges, they paled in comparison to what Lexa must have been experiencing in that moment. Clarke didn’t think she would ever understand exactly what Lexa was going through. Flying at 30,000 feet above Afghanistan and trudging through hostile territory just didn’t compare.

Fatigue was in Clarke’s very bones, but she had already stared at her ceiling for hours that night. Even when she had nodded off for a few minutes, she was awoken just a few minutes later by images of the man in Bastion, lurking behind Lexa just as he had the night of the attack, but this time, Clarke didn’t have the strength to the pull the trigger. She wanted to, she consciously made every attempt to, but her finger just wouldn’t move. She watched in horror as Lexa was shot in the back by the man standing above her, over and over again.

No, sleeping was no longer safe. Sleeping led to dreaming, and her dreams were a dangerous reminder of the things that could have gone wrong--and could still go wrong. But wakefulness was no refuge from her worry or from the memories of what Clarke had needed to do to survive. 

Clarke took out the pack of cigarettes from her PT jacket pocket and considered it with narrow eyes. She had never smoked an entire cigarette in her life, mostly because she was aware of their health impacts. But now, with the exhaustion, and dreams, and Lexa, and the general disillusionment that occurred after being deployed for several months, Clarke needed something to help her relax.

PT shorts swishing, she walked the short distance to the smoke pit, which was a gazebo with camouflage netting around the railings to make it appear more “tactical.” Sometimes the Air Force tried a little too hard.

“Oh hey, Sergeant Griffin.” A1C Wells greeted her from a seat inside the gazebo, a half-finished cigarette in his hand. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were flying tomorrow.”

“I still am,” Clarke answered, taking a seat across from him. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“That’s gonna mess with your crew rest. I would offer to take your flight, but I’m not allowed to fly for another few days. Max hours and all.” 

“Right.” Clarke unpeeled the plastic wrapping from the pack and tossed it into the trash bin. “It’s been a busy month. It seems like every stand-by shift has needed to fly at least one mission.”

“Yeah it’s been crazy. Lieutenant Bellamy says it’s because it’s the end of summer, and the insurgents are trying to get in their last attacks before winter sets in.”

That was the last thing Clarke wanted to hear. She took out a cigarette. “Can I borrow your lighter?”

Frowning, Wells handed it to her. “I didn’t know you smoked. You’re always on my case for smoking so much. Something about how hypocritical it is for a medical professional to do something they have to tell their patients not to do.”

“Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures,” Clarke said, lighting her cigarette. Inhaling, she just managed to avoid coughing and making a fool out of herself. “And besides, it doesn't matter if we smoke. The open sewer treatment and burn pits out here are going to kill us anyway. Might as well indulge in a few bad habits, right?”

“Right,” Wells drawled, unconvinced. “Are you alright? You don’t really seem like yourself. If you don’t mind me saying so, Sergeant.” 

Clarke smiled at him. Wells had always been a good kid, even after the things he had seen out there. “It’s been a tough few weeks, and I think things are going to get worse before they get better.”

“What about that interview you’re getting to do with AFN? That seems like a pretty good opportunity.”

Clarke sucked in a large lungful of smoke from the cigarette and wondered if it would ever stop tasting like the bottom of a trash can. “A good opportunity for someone else. A pain in the ass for me.” It still sickened her that Maj Gen Shumway and LtCol Thelonious wanted to use her “tale of heroism” in Bastion to gloss over the most recent civilian deaths in Afghanistan. She glared down at her cigarette, only a quarter done. “Do you want the rest of this? I don’t think I can do it.”

“I knew you didn’t have it in you.” Wells grinned as he reached over from his seat to take it. “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell them though? You should go in with a plan.” 

“Not really.” Clarke turned thoughtful, her lips slowly lifting into a devious smile. “But I’m starting to get an idea that the commander definitely won’t like.”

The cigarette smoldered in Wells’ hand, seemingly forgotten. “What do you mean? I don’t think I’d want to get on his bad side. He could make your life a living hell out here, you know.”

She just grinned at him, rising to her feet and leaving the smoke pit. “Thanks for the talk, Wells.” 

She thought he was right, of course. It was a poor choice to antagonize her commander, who was in charge of releasing her to return home. But it was a worse choice to betray her convictions, wasn't it?

 

**********

 

“Long time no see, Princess.” 

Clarke steadied her glare on TSgt Finn Collins in the Aircrew Flight Equipment tent, then placed her pistol into the clearing barrel. She ensured there was no round in the chamber and allowed the bolt to slam back forward. The effect was not lost on Collins, judging by the way he flinched. 

“I need to clean this,” Clarke said without preamble. 

“You've come to the right place then," he continued cheerfully. "I know how to take an M9 apart and put it back together again in less than three minutes.” 

“That's nice. But I'll just be needing the cleaning kit.” Clarke stood across from him at the table, placing the pistol on top of it. 

Collins was trying and failing to keep the smile plastered on his face. “But aren't you flying in an hour? It'd be way faster if I helped.” 

He had a point, Clarke acknowledged to herself crossly. “Fine, let's just get it over with.” 

He set out the cleaning cloths, rods, and solvents . “I can do it for you, if you want. Show you how it's done.”

“No thanks, Sergeant. I've got this.”

Standard operating procedure was to clean your weapon as soon as practical after firing it, but Clarke had found it difficult to come see Collins.  He was always a challenge, and with everything else going on, Clarke didn't want to deal with him.  But leaving her weapon uncleaned could cause it to misfire the next time, and with how things had been going so far on this deployment, Clarke couldn't run that risk. 

“You have to unhinge the barrel assembly first,” Collins offered when Clarke paused in taking the weapon apart. 

“Don't you have something else you should be doing?” she asked, sighing.

Collins shot her his best shit-eating grin. “Helping squadron members clean their weapons is part of my official job description. Can't get rid of me that easily.”

Great. Clarke took her ejected magazine from the table and jabbed it into his chest. “Then how about you load this up with another round. I seem to have lost one.” 

Collins took the magazine in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘lost one’? That's really serious, Clarke. Any ammunition we lose could be picked up by one of the locals.  I’ll have to tell the Commander about it.” 

“One of the locals did pick it up,” Clarke admitted. “In his chest.”

Collins stared at her for a long moment. “Right. I had heard about all that, but--” 

“But what?” Clarke demanded, removing the barrel from the pistol and placing it forcefully on the table. “You don’t think ‘Princesses’ should be shooting guns at people? You think we’re just here to look pretty and fulfill whatever needs you have? Is that it?”

“N-no, nothing like that,” Collins stuttered. “I just--”

“Just get me a bullet, Sergeant.” Clarke finally looked up at him from the disassembled weapon. She had no time or energy to deal with him.

He broke eye contact and went to the other side of the room, returning a short time later with one bullet. He set it on the table across from her. “I’m not the monster you think I am," he muttered.

“We’re all monsters in the end," Clarke said softly. 

She scrubbed the inside of the M9 chamber with a cloth, trying to remove the last black residue left behind from the fired bullet. She scrubbed harder. It wouldn’t come off.

 

**********

 

As Clarke left the aircrew flight equipment tent, she noticed that the compound was much more crowded than usual. It seemed that everyone from day shift was making their way to the briefing tent. Raven waved her over. 

“What’s going on?" Clarke asked. "I thought we were having our pre-flight brief in a few minutes.” 

“That’s gonna have to wait,” Raven grumbled, crossing her arms. “We just got some new Chief--Chief Sydney, I think. And she wants to see everyone before we head out for our flight” 

Clarke frowned at her. “What could be so fucking important to push back our flight brief?” 

“Only one way to find out.” Raven opened the briefing tent door for her, and they made their way to the largest briefing room at the end of the hall. TSgt Collins followed right behind them, but he stood on the other side of the room. Maybe something that Clarke had said had finally stuck with him. The few chairs around the room’s table were already taken, mostly by the pilots. 

“Is this everyone?” the blonde Chief Master Sergeant at the front of the room asked LtCol Thelonious, who was standing off to the side. He nodded. 

“Outstanding,” she said, her hands in a casual parade rest behind her back. She held her chin high, as her intense gaze shifting around the room quickly brought the conversations to an end. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Chief Diana Sydney, and I’ll be working alongside Colonel Thelonious to make this the best damn aeromedivac squadron in the Air Force.”

Jasper, on the other side of Clarke, covered a yawn with a hand. They’d received this same speech from several leaders over the years--senior enlisted always seemed to overestimate how their leadership abilities would change productivity in the squadron.

“I’ve been watching you all walk into the room. I’ve observed your customs and courtesies, as well as your dress and appearance.”

Clarke glanced down at the Chief’s sleeves, where her eight stripes stuck up stiffly. Was she ironing her uniform... in Afghanistan?

“And quite frankly," Chief Sydney continued, "I am  _ disgusted _ by what I have seen.”

Clarke felt more than saw the collective raising of eyebrows, the skeptical crossing of arms, the defiant raising of chins. 

“For starters, this meeting was scheduled to begin more than three minutes before the last squadron members graced us with their presence.” Chief Sydney laid a steady glare on Clarke and Raven, even though Collins had come in after them. “This tardiness is unacceptable and hints at issues that go far beyond simply needing to adjust watches a few minutes ahead.”

Raven leaned in closer to Clarke. “Is she serious right now?” she whispered. “I didn't even know about this meeting until right before it was starting.”

Clarke tried elbowing Raven in the side to warn her to stop talking, but it was no use. Chief Sydney glared at her until Raven finally looked up and noticed that all eyes were on her. Raven's lips snapped shut. 

“This is exactly the lack of professionalism that I was warned about.” Chief Sydney motioned toward Raven. “What's your name, Airman?” 

Raven stood up straighter and went to parade rest, but Clarke knew that stubborn set to her mouth. “Senior Airman Reyes, Chief.” 

“Reyes…I would suggest that you spend more time following the rules and less time mouthing off after you've broken them.” 

Raven's glare could have cut glass. After a tense moment, she only responded with a curt “Yes, Chief.” 

Chief Sydney’s gaze migrated across the crowd once again, satisfied with Raven's apparent submission. “As for the rest of you, I expect you to pay more attention to detail. Your uniforms are atrocious. Pull your flight suit zippers up. They should not extend below the bottom of your name tape. And pull your goddamn sleeves down. This isn’t Top Gun.” 

She pointed at 1Lt Bellamy, who was hastily pulling down his flight suit's sleeves which had been bunched around his elbows. “You! Lieutenant! Get up here please.” 

Clarke glanced sidelong at Raven. Even the officers weren’t exempt from the Chief’s scrutiny.

1Lt Bellamy hesitated before walking to the front of the room beside Chief Sydney and giving the other pilots in the squadron a goofy grin. The Chief leaned in towards him, her face mere inches from his. He gulped in seeming discomfort.

“That is positively the worst mustache I have ever seen,” she hissed.

Everyone in the room laughed, but the Chief showed no sign of humor. “I don’t care what tradition there is behind deployment mustaches, but I _will_ _not tolerate_ any mustache that extends past the sides of your lips. Am I understood--” She glanced down at his name tape. “Lieutenant Bellamy? You’re to be an example to the Airmen here. Am I making myself clear?”

He shot the other pilots another look, this time overwhelmed, but the other pilots were hiding their laughter behind their hands. “Understood, Chief. I’ll take care of it.”

“See that you do.” She gestured for 1Lt Bellamy to return to his seat and glared at everyone in the room once again. “You might think that since you’re deployed, you don’t need to worry about uniform or hair standards. But you’re wrong. You’re dead wrong.” She began pointing at various people in the room. “Today it’s your flight suit zipper. Tomorrow it’s your mustache."

She began pacing, unable to contain her excitement. "And the next day, you’re showing up late to work. You’re forgetting your flight bag. You’re misdiagnosing a patient, or under-pressurizing the aircraft, or missing an approach.”

Sydney put her arms behind her back again. “Disciplinary infractions always start small, but they never stay small. We’re out here to save lives, but we can’t do that if we aren’t getting the little things right. Is that understood?”

There was a scattered mumbling of “Yes, Chief.”

“ _ Is that understood? _ ” she repeated, louder.

“Yes, Chief,” Clarke and everyone in the room yelled. 

Chief Sydney turned to back to LtCol Thelonious. “That’s all I have for them, sir.” 

“You’re all dismissed," he said. "Everyone out, so that the flight crew can have their briefing.” 

As soon as the Chief, Commander, and non-flying personnel had left the room, Raven turned to Clarke with wide eyes. “Holy shit, Clarke.”

Clarke found the confusion that she was feeling reflected on Raven’s face. 

They both fell into their seats at the briefing table, Jasper pulling up a chair next to them. “To quote a cinematic masterpiece, ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’” 

“What are you talking about, Jasper?” Raven asked.

Jasper looked at her as if she were crazy. “Star Wars. Obviously. What’s wrong with you people.”

“What’s wrong with our new Chief is the real question,” Clarke said quietly enough so that Maj Kane, their mission commander, couldn’t hear.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Raven said too loudly, before remembering herself, glancing at Maj Kane. “We’re deployed, working our asses off, in constant danger, and she comes strolling in to tell us to zip up our fucking flight? That’s insane.”

Jasper rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “On the plus side, she’s not hard on the eyes.”

“Jasper!” Clarke and Raven said at the same time. 

He just shrugged. “I’ve been out here for a long time. What can I say. Every other dude was thinking the same thing, guaranteed.”

“Unbelievable,” Clarke muttered. “Do you think other services have to put up with this too? Are there Sergeant Majors getting off on uniform infractions and mustache length?” 

“Haven’t you seen the Sergeant Major tearing Army kids a new one in front of the BX?” Raven asked. “It’s absolutely epic. The guy’s face was turning so red I thought he might pass out”

Clarke just frowned. It was beyond ridiculous to focus on uniform regulations when they were out here fighting a war. Yes, people put their hands in their pockets when they were cold. They rolled their sleeves up when they were hot. Didn’t their enlisted leaders have anything better to do than yell at people who were just tired and trying to do their jobs? Clarke was sure that Lexa didn’t have someone criticizing her uniform while she was crouched in the dirt, aiming her M-16 at the enemy. 

Her stomach clenched. It was better not to think about Lexa. But as hard as she tried, the Marine never seemed to leave her thoughts for long. She shook her head slightly, as if that would help.

Jasper leaned in closer to the two of them. “But what about the best part… Did you guys see her occupational badge? It was logistics.  _ Logistics! _ ” 

Raven laughed bitterly, crossing her arms in front of herself. “Of course it was! Who would be better to support a flying squadron  _ than someone who has never flown a fucking day in their lives?!  _ She probably just hates aircrew.”

Clarke only half-listened as she and Jasper went back-and-forth about the injustice of it all. Clarke was ready for this deployment to stop. Things had spiralled out of control in the last couple of weeks, and she was afraid of what would happen in the time remaining. She had thought the hardest part would be being separated from Lexa, but now she and the rest of the squadron would have to deal with this new Chief as well. 

Could things get any worse? 

**********

 

A few days later, Clarke sat down at the briefing room table across from her Air Force Network interviewer, Staff Sergeant Connor. He looked sharp, with closely-cropped hair and his ABUs snug but not too tight. The young Airman behind him, Amn Diggs, adjusted the camera towards her until he was satisfied with the angle. Another camera was already in place, facing SSgt Conner.

LtCol Thelonious had informed her the day before that she would be meeting with the AFN reporters an hour before her flight briefing. She just shot him a lukewarm smile and assured him that she would be there. She had forgotten to mention that she would be sabotaging the interview to the best of her ability. If he and Maj Gen Shumway thought that she would be a good little enlisted slave and go along with their plan, they were about to get a rude awakening.

“Thanks for meeting with me, Sergeant Griffin,” SSgt Conner began, smiling at Clarke. “You must be really busy, with your squadron’s high ops tempo lately.” 

“Very.” Clarke folded her hands on the table. “It’s amazing to me that we’re expected to work 50 or 60 hour work weeks for six months straight out here. That takes a big toll on a person. You start losing sleep, making mistakes. But in my mission, mistakes mean someone loses their life.”

SSgt Conner’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. “No one said deployments are easy. Our nation asks a lot of us, and sometimes we have to give everything we got.”

Clarke’s stare was hard. “Far too many people have to give everything, and the rest of us… we get to go home, but we’re changed. Broken. That piece of ourselves that we lose over here, we’ll never get it back.”

SSgt Connor and Amn Diggs exchanged a worried look. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sergeant Griffin. Now, I just have a few questions about your time in Camp Bastion. I’ve heard from your commander that you are eligible for the Bronze Star for your accomplishments there. Can you tell us what happened?” 

“No, I can’t.” Clarke tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her smug smile.

“What do you mean?” SSgt Connor cleared his throat. “Is it.. classified?” 

“No, I just can’t remember.” Clarke slouched back into her chair and shrugged. “I’m guessing it has something to do with PTSD-induced memory loss. But I can’t tell you anything from that day. Sorry.”

Frowning, SSgt Connor flipped through his notebook until he found the page he wanted. “So you don’t have anything to say about putting yourself in harm’s way to stop the base attack? Or saving a Marine’s life from the enemy? Or…” He flipped to another page and read, "Exemplifying Air Force core values and proving yourself to be a true American patriot?” 

“Sorry. I don’t remember any of that.” Clarke raised an eyebrow. “I hope this doesn’t ruin your story.”

“Not at all,” SSgt Connor said with an optimism that Clarke could see right through. “We can always interview the Marines that you fought alongside that day.” 

“No you can’t. They’re on a mission right now. And whenever they get back, I’m sure they’ll be a little too busy fighting and getting shot at to waste their time being used as propaganda.” 

SSgt Connor flipped his notebook shut and gave her a tight smile. “Well. I guess that’s all the footage we’ll need. Will that work for you, Diggs?”

“Absolutely, sir.” Amn Diggs looked at Clarke in awe before remembering that he was supposed to be turning off cameras and stowing gear. 

Clarke rose from her seat, and SSgt Connor did the same and extended his hand out to her. “Thank you for your time, Sergeant Griffin. And good luck on your mission today.”

Clarke shook his hand, a genuine smile spreading across her face for the first time that day. She had done it, actually given them a completely useless interview that they would be crazy to publish. She knew that LtCol Thelonious and Maj Gen Shumway were going to give her grief for it, but for now, Clarke couldn’t hold back her grin.

“I think it’s going to be a great mission,” she said. As she was exiting the briefing room, she added, “Stay safe out. You might get a paper cut. It’s a dangerous war.” 

She was out of the room before they could reply. SSgt Connor hit his notepad hard against the table. “Fucking aircrew, thinking they’re so much better than the rest of us.”

Amn Diggs’ jaw was practically on the floor. “That. Was. Awesome.”

 

**********

 

Clarke downed the rest of her Rip-It energy drink as the aircraft made its final approach to Camp Dwyer. An entire week of not sleeping was definitely starting to catch up with her. She was already on her third energy drink of the flight, and she had brought two more just in case.

She was considering going to the flight doc to get sleeping pills, but she knew how they affected her. They made her dreams so vivid that she would wake up the next morning and have to analyze what was real and what wasn't. Considering how the events at Bastion were still revisiting her, night after night, she didn't think that she wanted those memories any more vivid than they already were. 

Despite the fatigue, she couldn't shake her excitement about how well the interview had gone (for her, at least). There was no way that they would be able to use anything she said, even out of context. It may land her in hot water with the commander, but she would deal with that when she had to. For now, she could just be relieved that, for the first time in weeks, something had gone exactly how she had planned. 

The C-130’s wheels hit the tarmac, screeching as the pilots braked hard on the short runway. From what Clarke had seen last time of Camp Dwyer, it was a small base in the middle of a flat expanse of blowing sand. It was the exact image that people had when they heard someone had deployed “to the desert.”

With the aircraft's wheels firmly on the ground, it was safe for the crew to make their final preparations for their mission. SSgt Jasper hurried around the cargo hold, checking that the hospital beds were secure. Clarke flipped through the passenger manifest: they were receiving  10 patients that day with a range of injuries, some of them quite serious. She reviewed which bed each of the patients, denoted only by a number, would be secured into.

The aircraft came to a halt, and a minute later the four propellers powered down. “Cabin is depressurised.” Clarke recognized Maj Kane's voice through her headset. “Opening back hatch. We'll be filling out forms, but let us know if you need anything. Good luck.” 

“Roger,” LtCol Abby said, keying the mic. “We should be done in about an hour.” She motioned for Clarke to follow her, and they both waited in the back of the cargo hold, as the rear hatch slowly lowered. 

Clarke stifled a yawn. If there was any time for her not to be tired, this was it. Her body should have been buzzing from all the caffeine she had just consumed, but every action seemed to take twice as much energy to perform as normal. 

She squinted as the lowering hatch let in the blinding desert sun. Everything was brown: brown taxiway, squat brown Medical Center, brown sand on the ground and brown sand blowing in the air. It was a lifeless, suffocating world, distorted by the heat radiating upward from the ground. 

When her eyes had adjusted, Clarke watched as the medical team of Marines wheeled out several patients on stretchers, two of them accompanied by ventilation machines. Clarke's heart tightened at the sight, as it always did. She had thought that seeing patient after patient with such devastating injuries would desensitize her, but she was wrong. 

“Smell that?” Jasper yelled at her from further back in the cargo hold. A nearby helicopter was getting refueled, making the area smell strongly of jet fuel. “That's the smell of freedom."

Clarke turned and gave him a pity smile. He was always trying to find the lighter side of things. She appreciated it, even if his attempts sometimes fell flat. 

She followed LtCol Abby down the ramp and onto the tarmac, the temperature immediately rising at least 30 degrees compared to inside the aircraft. The  Marines and stretchers were becoming clearer as they approached, working their way through the heat waves.

Clarke's brow furrowed as she watched them come nearer. 

Was she seeing things? She had to be. Or maybe she had fallen asleep on the flight and was dreaming? 

She told herself to wake up, but nothing happened.

She had stopped walking alongside LtCol Abby at some point. She didn't remember doing that. Her legs had just stopped working, and she knew she should be wondering about that, but she couldn't seem to care.

LtCol Abby had reached the first stretcher. "Clarke..." She had never called Clarke by her first name before. It was weird to hear her say it. “Why don't you help with one of the other patients first. I'll get this one.” 

That's when the truth hit Clarke so hard that all of the air left her lungs.

She had seen the thick, brown waves of hair.  They had been liberated from her usual bun and were splayed around her head like a pillow. Their golden tones were highlighted in the afternoon sun, and Clarke thought they were more beautiful than ever. 

The full, pouting lips that Clarke remembered so fondly were mostly obscured by the tube that was going down her throat. But even the slightest glimpse of them reminded Clarke how those lips pulled into a warm smile, and how they felt gliding down her neck. 

Clarke stepped forward with slow, shaky steps. The short distance between her and the stretcher now seemed impossibly long.

But she took another step, and then another, and before she realized it, she had burst into a run and was by Lexa's side.

Her Lexa, the one who had promised that she would be safe, was laying unconscious on the stretcher, breathing through a ventilator.

Her Lexa, who had become the reason she breathed and laughed and survived, was covered in gashes and had her right arm immobilized at her side.

Clarke took her hand, the pale, almost blue skin cool to the touch. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry rasp. “What--what happened to her?” she finally managed.

The Marine captain who had been pushing the stretcher shot LtCol Abby a look, but she just nodded. “IED. Made the whole building collapse on top of her and the other patient over there. A Lance Corporal.”

Clarke’s eyes squeezed shut, causing tears to finally fall and leave trails down her cheeks. She made herself look at the other stretcher right behind Lexa’s.

LCpl Blake appeared to be in a similar state as Lexa, unconscious and barely breathing.  For someone so energetic to be reduced to someone who couldn’t even live on their own… Clarke was only grateful that Raven wasn’t on this flight and wouldn’t have to see her like this. But she would find out soon enough. Clarke would have to be the one to tell her. 

She turned back to Lexa. This was a nightmare. Everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. How did someone so beautiful, so caring, so selfless, deserve something like this? 

“Clarke,” LtCol Abby said again, placing a hand on her shoulder,.“I’ll take care of this. You can--”

“No.” Clarke squeezed Lexa’s hand, hoping that the Marine knew that it was her. “No, Colonel, I can do this. I need to do this. ”

LtCol Abby and the Marine captain exchanged a look, but soon moved to help secure Blake onto the aircraft, leaving Clarke alone with Lexa.

Clarke fought down the sob that threatened to escape. She had to be strong now. She brushed a strand of hair off of Lexa’s face. “You’re going to be OK, Lexa, do you hear me? I’m not going to let anything happen to you. And I’m not letting you out of my sight… look what happens to you when I do.”

Clarke paused, a thought striking her. She almost fell backward from the strength of it. But with it, the anxiety that roiled in her stomach eased ever so slightly.

"Do you think you can just make me fall in love with you and then go get yourself killed?" Clarke asked her, beginning to push the stretcher toward the C-130. "I don't think so. I won't allow it, Lexa."

Clarke made the mistake of looking down at the bloody scrapes and cuts that covered Lexa’s face. A final tear escaped from Clarke’s eye, but she wiped it away and pushed the stretcher more quickly.

"I won't fucking allow it."


	15. General Hospital: Afghanistan Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke spends a lot of time in the hospital hanging with her girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how out of hand this story has gotten. Thanks so much for reading and for your feedback! It's fun to hear what you guys think.

Clarke couldn’t keep still. She squirmed in her seat, tapped her pencil against the table, crossed her legs one way and then the other, and checked her watch once again. How was she supposed to sit here in the post-flight briefing when she knew that Lexa was laying in a hospital bed a few minutes away, barely alive? Clarke had helped wheel her into her hospital room, but she had to watch helplessly as the doors had shut behind her.

She could feel LtCol Abby’s eyes on her, but she pretended to ignore her. She didn’t need pity right now. She needed to get out of this briefing. 

Maj Kane was simulating 1Lt Bellamy’s landing of the C-130 with a stapler, explaining something about yaw and southerly winds and other shit that Clarke couldn't care less about. On another day she may have laughed at how absurd it was, but not today. She knew that there wasn’t anything that she could actually  _ do _ for Lexa, but she needed to be there with her. She needed to be as close as possible to her. She needed to--

Clarke burst to her feet, surprising herself as well as everyone else in the room. She fumbled for an excuse. “Sorry sir, but I’m not feeling well.” 

Maj Kane looked up at her while holding the stapler airplane in midair. “If you’re going to vomit, kindly do it outside,” he said dryly. 

It wasn't even a lie--she was worried sick. 

Clarke was out of the room in less than two seconds, eyesight already growing blurry from tears that she didn't have the time to let fall. She had to find Raven and tell her about Octavia, and then they could both make their way to the hospital. 

An unexpected hand fell on her shoulder, and Clarke turned to find LtCol Abby right beside her. Clarke didn’t hear whatever excuse she had given the Major, but it didn’t matter. When you were a Lieutenant Colonel, you could basically do whatever you wanted anyway. And Clarke had more important things to worry about.

In the hallway, she squeezed Clarke's shoulder gently. “I'm so sorry for all of this. I'll do everything I can to help you. Are you going to the hospital now?” 

“Nothing could keep me away,” Clarke said flatly. She wondered how her voice was so calm, despite the anxiety that was gripping her insides.

“Don't worry. I know the doctor taking care of her. She's in good hands.” 

Clarke nodded weakly. “Thanks, Colonel. But I have to go find Reyes. She needs to know.” 

“Does she know Sergeant Carey as well?” 

“She’s… friends with Lance Corporal Blake, the other injured Marine.” 

“Right,” LtCol Abby said with a knowing look. “I'll see what I can do.” 

Clarke didn't know what that meant, but she didn't have the energy to think about it right now. 

Clarke exited the briefing tent and made her way across the compound to the communications tent, the sun low in the horizon. It set the sky a rosy hue that was far too beautiful for the turmoil that Clarke felt.

Inside, Clarke found Raven and A1C Monty sitting at a work bench. It was covered with a pile of SKLs, handheld devices that loaded the security keys onto the aircraft’s radios. Iron Maiden blared from the computer in the corner of the room, and Monty paused his work to perform a surprisingly skilled Air guitar. 

“Hey, Clarky!” Raven called out when she noticed Clarke enter the room. She raised an eyebrow at Clarke’s expression. “What’s up? It looks like you just got some bad news about your dog back home.” 

“Raven…” Now that she was standing in front of her, Clarke found that she didn't know what to say. She had planned it out, at least a dozen times, but now the words refused to come. She cleared her throat. “We need to go to the hospital. Right now.” 

“OK now you’re scaring me.” Raven put the SKL she had been working on onto the bench and made her way to Clarke’s side. “Either your water just broke, or… Did something happen on the flight? Is everyone alright?”

Clarke shook her head, trying to clear it of the panic that was threatening to cripple her. “It’s Octavia.”

Raven’s eyes hardened, her smile disappearing. “What do you mean it’s Octavia. Is this some kind of sick joke? Because not funny, Clarke. Not fucking funny.”

Monty had been sitting frozen at the work bench, but he leaned over to the computer and turned off the music. The sudden silence made Raven’s question ring out all the louder.

“Please,” Clarke pleaded with her, looking anywhere but Raven. “We picked her up today.”

Then both of Raven’s hands were on Clarke’s shoulders, and her grip was strong enough that Clarke knew she would have bruises. But she didn’t try to back away. She couldn’t anyway.

“You fucking tell me this is some stupid joke right now, or I swear to God I will never forgive you.” Raven’s muscles along her jaw flexed, as her stare bore a hole right through Clarke. 

When Clarke didn’t answer, couldn’t make any words come out, Raven tightened her grip even more and shook her once, hard. “What the fuck happened to her? Why aren’t you saying anything? Just fucking tell me what happened!” 

Monty was beside her now and tried to place a calming hand on her back, but Raven just shrugged him away and released her death grip on Clarke’s shoulders. She ran her fingers along both sides of her own head, grabbing some of the hair and yanking it loose from her bun. She sank to the ground, a strangled sob escaping from her.

Raven looked up at Clarke with blurry eyes. “Is she dead?”

The pain on Raven’s face broke her heart. “No. No, Raven.” Clarke dropped down next to Raven and put her arm around her shoulders. “She’s pretty torn up, though. Blast injuries from an IED. Some burns.”

“Fuck,” Raven sighed, her eyes snapping shut and the fight leaving her.

Clarke just held on to her as she shook. Speaking was too hard right now. Even breathing was too hard right now. Clarke just wanted to close her eyes and sleep forever and not know any more of the pain that had become all that she knew out here. Disappearing and forgetting everything would be so much easier than having to keep fighting. But leaving Lexa to battle through this alone was not an option.

“If it was an IED,” Raven said, peering over at Clarke through wet eyes, “was there anyone else in the squad with her?” 

“Let’s just get to the hospital.” Clarke tried to pull Raven up from the ground, but Raven stubbornly pulled her back down next to her.

“What happened to Lexa?” Raven demanded.

Clarke blinked away the image of Lexa on the stretcher, the tube transporting oxygen into her lungs the only thing that was keeping her alive. “We picked her up, too." How was her voice so steady? "She’s here.” 

“Fuck,” Raven exclaimed again. “Then what are we doing here? Let's go.”

They helped each other stand, and Clarke had never been more grateful to have Raven in her life than at that moment. 

Monty shifted awkwardly behind them. “I don’t know what I can do, but if you guys need anything, I’m here for you.” 

“Thanks, Monty.” Raven wiped her nose and settled her steely gaze on Clarke. “Let’s go see our women.” 

**********

Clarke had never entered the hospital from the road entrance. She had only helped transport patients from the back, where the hospital met the flight line. It was disorienting and frustrating that despite knowing the exact room that she had helped move Lexa into, that she didn’t know how to get there or even if she was allowed to see her. 

Inside, Clarke and Raven burst through the front doors, the smell of antiseptic greeting them. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other the entire way there, but they didn’t need to--Clarke could feel the worry emanating off of Raven in waves. She expected that Raven felt the same from her. 

Clarke was surprised to see that LtCol Abby stood at the reception desk, speaking animatedly with one of the Air Force doctors. He had his arms crossed and was shaking his head.

“They’re in no condition to have visitors right now,” the man said, his patience seemingly wearing thin. “And besides, it’s against protocol to allow visitors from outside their command.” 

LtCol Abby gaze didn’t waver. “We’ve been working with each other for five months now, Major, and this is the first favor I've ever asked for. I think that having these girls around will actually help them recover faster. They mean a lot to each other. If they get in the way, or cause any problems, by all means make them leave. But don’t crush the tiny amount of compassion that manages to exist out here.”

Clarke’s heart skipped a beat, as she realized that there was a chance that she and Raven wouldn’t be allowed to see them. That possibility had never occurred to her. It threatened to crush her now.

When they reached the reception counter alongside LtCol Abby, Clarke cleared her throat. “Colonel, Reyes and I came as soon as we could.” 

“Perfect,” LtCol Abby said, nodding to them. “Major Jackson, these are the two I was talking about, Sergeant Griffin and Airman Reyes.”

“We won’t cause any trouble, sir,” Raven assured him, looking more serious and desperate than Clarke had ever seen her in her life. 

Clarke nodded, adding “And we’ll follow whatever instructions you or your nurses have for us.” 

Maj Jackson looked at them skeptically. Sighing, he picked up a clipboard from the desk and scribbled something on it. “I’ll add them to the volunteer roster. But they can’t disturb the patients at all--they both have extensive abdominal injuries that need time to heal, and they need to be on oxygen for the next several days at least. It’s still pretty touch-and-go, and I won’t tolerate these two doing anything to jeopardize their chances for recovery.” 

“Of course, sir,” Clarke agreed. “We would never do anything to hurt them, you have my word.”

He gave them both clip-on badges that said “volunteer” and frowned, apparently not happy to be breaking the rules but doing it anyway. He waved them behind the reception desk. “I’ll show you where they’re staying. Was there anything else, Colonel?”

“Nothing. Thanks for your help tonight,” LtCol Abby said with satisfaction, motioning to Clarke and Raven that they should follow him. 

Clarke gave her the best smile that she could muster and an appreciative nod. She hadn’t expected LtCol Abby to go so far out of her way to help them. But now that she had, Clarke and Raven would have unimpeded access to visit Lexa and Octavia. It was perfect, and it overwhelmed her.

Clarke fought to keep her composure, as she and Raven followed the Major down the twisting hallways. Fluorescent lights illuminated the white walls and white tile floors with a harsh clarity. It was lifeless and sterile. Clarke was beginning to understand why people said they hated hospitals.

“Hey.” Raven brushed her shoulder against Clarke’s, as she searched her tear-brimmed eyes. “We’re almost there, alright? We’re going to give them a reason to get better. They need us. We're too hot for them to just give up.” 

“I think we need them, too,” Clarke admitted. And she did.

So far, only the shadow of the thought that she could lose Lexa forever had crossed her mind, and it had almost made her start screaming in the middle of their flight back to Kandahar. She held onto the fact that Lexa was strong. She was stubborn. She had made too many promises to Clarke, and she was the type to keep her promises. Clarke refused to think about any possibility other than Lexa’s full recovery.

She had to.

After turning down several hallways and passing room after room of patients, Maj Jackson gestured toward two neighboring rooms a little further down the hall. “There they are. Lieutenant Vie and I are in charge of them this time of day. If you see any change in their condition, use the call button.” He gave them a stern look. “Don’t make me regret letting you back here.”

“You won’t, sir.” Clarke promised. "And thank you. You don't know what this means to us."

He gave her a look, suggesting that he knew more than he let on. He left them standing in the hallway, alone except for the beeping of nearby heart rate monitors.

Raven seemed glued to the floor tiles, her face gone pale.

“Take your time, Raven,” Clarke soothed, rubbing her hand up and down her back. “Only go in when you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready,” Raven insisted, but her voice broke. “Walk back to the dorm with me, when we’re done?” 

“Yeah.” Clarke smiled sadly at her, and then they were moving, each taking slow but determined steps into the separate rooms. 

Clarke closed the door behind her, not caring if the nurses had a problem with it. She needed to be alone, to feel and mourn, without curious eyes peeking in at her and Lexa.

Clarke's breath caught in her throat when she saw her. 

She was propped up in bed and still connected to the ventilator. The tube ran from her mouth to the machine beside her bed, which hummed quietly. The various cuts across her face looked cleaner than they had before, but they were still in sharp contrast with her pale skin. It was paler than Clarke remembered.

The sling for her arm had been replaced with one that hooked around both shoulders, securing her arm to her chest. The bed sheets covered her stomach and left her tan T-shirt exposed. Her eyes were still shut, but she looked more peaceful than she had on the plane, more comfortable.

Pulling up a chair, Clarke sat as close as she could and gingerly took Lexa’s hand that wasn’t in the sling. She was careful not to scratch any of the cuts that criss-crossed her hand and ran up her arm. One particularly large gash was just under her tattoo and had been stitched with black threads. 

The reality of it was starting to sink in for Clarke. She wanted to hear every gruesome detail of how it happened, so that at least she had someone to blame. Not knowing what had happened except that an IED had exploded wasn't enough to satisfy her.

But would Lexa even want to talk about it? Or would she want to pretend it had never happened, despite the scars inside and out that would be a constant reminder of what she had lost? 

Clarke smoothed a strand of Lexa's hair off of her forehead. She wondered how smooth her skin had been before all of this. Lexa must have been more carefree before she had joined the Marines Corps, despite all of the drama in her family. 

Clarke almost wished for simpler times, before they had both joined the military and gotten themselves into this mess. But then, they wouldn’t have met each other. That would have been so much worse.

“Lexa,” she began, relishing that she could still speak her name to her, even if Lexa probably couldn't hear her from her coma. “I hate that this happened to you. You're so strong, so passionate, and to see you like this... It breaks my heart.” 

She stared at her hand, not even trusting herself to look at Lexa's face. “The truth is that I need you. I need you to live, and I know you're doing your best, and that you always do your best, but…" A bitter laugh escaped her. "I don't even know if you can hear me.”

Clarke wiped her nose, which had started running so much that she would have been embarrassed if Lexa could see her. “You need to know that I'm going to be here as much as I can. Every second I'm not flying or sleeping, I'll be here.” The corner of her mouth scrunched up as a thought occurred to her. “Don't think I didn't notice that this happened right after you agreed to be my girlfriend. You can't get away that easily.” 

Clarke, still holding Lexa's hand, almost jumped out of her chair when she felt the slightest pressure on her fingers. Had she imagined that? Or had Lexa really squeezed her hand?

The sound that erupted out of Clarke could have been a sob or a laugh. There were so many dueling emotions inside of her that she couldn't distinguish between them, but all that mattered was that Lexa was still in there. Lexa was still fighting. And Clarke would be by her side, for as long as it took. 

At that moment, someone knocked on the door. It opened, revealing Raven looking at her with bloodshot eyes. “Sorry Clarke, but Major Jackson told me we got to go. They have to do some tests, something about pulmonary function and hema-something. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounds important. Not sure why he told me instead of you.”

“He probably knew I'd ask too many question.” Clarke squeezed Lexa's hand, knowing that Lexa knew she was there. That made all the difference. They could fight for each other. “I love you,” she murmured in Lexa’s ear. “Your spirit needs to stay right where it is. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

**********

Clarke was there the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. It became her routine to finish her flight and swing by the chow hall on her way to the hospital for a to-go container. She didn’t think the food smelled appetizing enough to bring Lexa back from her coma, but it couldn’t hurt. Even chow hall food had to be better than eating through a feeding tube.

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke said as cheerily as she could, plopping down in the chair next to her hospital bed and opening her to-go container. “Roast beef and mashed potatoes today. Again. Call me crazy, but I don't think the meat is supposed to be green."

Lexa looked better. Her cuts were healing, her skin was no longer a ghastly shade of pale blue, and they had taken her off the ventilator. But she was still on heavy medication to relieve her pain.

Maj Jackson said that Lexa was recovering more quickly than he had expected. Clarke had asked him and 2Lt Maya Vie more than once about the full extent of Lexa’s injuries, but they had been close-lipped. They said that only the patients' commands and immediate families could be told that. But between her training as an aeromedical technician, her studies in pre-med, and Google, Clarke could piece most of it together.

Blast injuries involved rapid pressure changes in the lungs and internal organs, with secondary injury resulting from fire or shrapnel. After visiting Octavia a few days before, Clarke figured that Octavia had received her burns from being closer to the blast, while Lexa had been injured more from the building collapsing around them.

It still churned her stomach to think about it. She tried not to, with limited success.

Clarke set a book onto Lexa's bed and took a bite of mashed potatoes.“So, I brought a book today. Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I thought I could read some of it to you? I know it’s kind of cliche and you’ll probably get sick of my voice, but I want to read this, and it’s selfish for me to keep it to myself, right?”

Clarke craned her head in thought. “And really, it doesn’t matter what you want. Because you are quite literally a captive audience. I guess you’ll just have to wake up to tell me what you want.”

Clarke couldn’t help but be disappointed when Lexa continued to lay there, eyes closed, breathing steady.

She stroked Lexa’s cheek, the book forgotten. “You do want to wake up, right? I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly. I’d do anything to hear your laugh, feel your arms wrapped around me, to kiss you again…"

Clarke winked at her, even though she knew Lexa couldn't see it. "There’s a lot of things I’d like to do to you, when you’re healed. When we don’t have to sneak around in dorms or showers.” Clarke laughed to herself. “God, I’m really in too deep, aren’t I?”

“Hmmmmm.”

Clarke snapped her head up to stare at Lexa. Had she just… hummed?

“Cl--Cl--Clarke.” 

Clarke was out of her seat and holding Lexa’s hand in a split second, smoothing Lexa’s hair, book and food forgotten. “Oh my God, Lexa. I’m here.” 

Lexa’s eyes were still closed, but she smiled ever so slightly toward Clarke. To Clarke, it was as bright as the sun. “You can do whatever you want to me,” Lexa mumbled. 

Clarke laughed even as tears were filling her eyes. “I’ve talked to you for a week straight, and that’s what wakes you up? Me promising to have sex with you?”

Lexa’s smile grew, and Clarke felt her squeeze her hand. It may have been the happiest that Clarke could ever remember feeling.

“Oh right, I’m supposed to tell the nurse if your condition changes at all,” Clarke remembered, pressing the call button on Lexa’s bed.

“No…” Lexa complained, eyes still shut tight. “They make you leave at night. I don’t like them.”

Clarke had a little trouble understanding, Lexa's words were so slurred, but she figured it out.  “But they’re the ones who give you your drugs. You should like them very much.” 

“No,” Lexa repeated. “I only need you. They can all go fuck themselves.”

2Lt Maya Vie chose that moment to enter the room. Her eyes went wide. “Well. No wonder she’s recovering so fast. She’s… spirited.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Clarke said, earning a frown from Lexa.

“Clarke. Clarke,” Lexa demanded, tugging on her hand, while the lieutenant busied herself with checking Lexa’s vital signs.

“Yes, Lexa. I’m here.” 

“I need you to know something, Clarke,” Lexa said seriously. 

Clarke was confused by the insistence in Lexa's voice. "OK, what is it?"

“You should know that I don’t only want you for your body.” 

2Lt Vie snorted a laugh but otherwise kept herself together. Clarke was too happy to have Lexa talking to her to care that they had an audience. She had thought that maybe Lexa was joking, but she still seemed deadly serious.

“Clarke?”

“Yes, Lexa.” 

“I love lots of things about you, not just your body. But I do like your body, too. Very much.” 

Clarke’s heart fluttered, even though she knew that Lexa was high on a cocktail of powerful pain medication. “I love a lot of things about you too, Lexa. And that’s why you need to wake up. Really wake up, I mean.”

“What?” Lexa frowned. “I thought I was standing? And why is it so dark?” 

Clarke ran her hand down Lexa’s cheek again. “You’re laying in bed in the hospital, and you’ll have to open your eyes to see anything, silly.”

Lexa laughed at her, but there was an edge to it. “You don’t think I know what my own apartment looks like? Now come to bed, you gorgeous woman. ” 

Clarke sighed, realizing just how strong Lexa’s medication was. “I want to, trust me, but you’re still healing, and I might hurt you.” 

“Healing… I don’t want to talk about that,” Lexa said, growing more agitated. “And why are you talking so quiet? It doesn't matter. I just want you to know--I need you to know--that I couldn’t be doing this. I couldn’t be doing any of this without you….” 

“Is she OK, Lieutenant?” Clarke asked 2Lt Vie, concerned how Lexa’s breathing was accelerating and how she fidgeted in her bed.

The lieutenant was already giving Lexa more medication. “It was almost time for her pain meds anyway, and I think she was really excited to talk to you. She should wake up again soon.” 

Lexa was already reacting to the painkillers, her hands stilling as she slumped deeper into the bed. “Don’t forget, Clarke…” Her words were slurring together even more. “I really… really like your boobs…”

Clarke could feel her cheeks heating, even as she remembered a thousand things that she wished she had said to her. But Clarke wasn’t sure if Lexa would remember that conversation anyway. She almost hoped she didn’t, so that she could embarrass her with it later.

But Lexa was getting better. Oh God, she was getting better.

2Lt Vie flipped through the paperwork on her clipboard and glanced back to Clarke, almost reluctantly. “She’s lucky to have you, you know. Other patients out here don’t have a loved one helping them through their recovery. Except for Blake, of course. These are two very lucky Marines. And it sounds like they’ve gotten lucky in more ways than one.”

With her thoughts so preoccupied with Lexa, it took Clarke a minute to realize what the lieutenant had said. She struggled to come up with an explanation for Lexa’s conversation with her. “I… We.. I mean that--”

“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” 2Lt Vie said, laughing. “I think you guys look good together. And most importantly, you’re helping her get through this. Right now, that’s what’s most important. You might want to not mention the bomb to her. Let her bring it up to you. She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

Clarke nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It had been stupid to mention Lexa’s injury to her. Maybe Lexa would have been able to talk to her for longer if she hadn’t mentioned it. 

“You need anything?” the lieutenant asked her.

“No. No, I’m fine,” Clarke managed. “Thank you. You’ve been so kind to us already.” 

“Yeah, well…” she leaned back and looked both ways down the hall outside of the room. “The Major can be a bit of a hard ass, so I try to help out when I can. You tell me if you need anything, alright?” 

Clarke nodded again, as the lieutenant smiled at her and left the room. 

She took several steadying breaths. While her and Lexa's conversation had been… unconventional, it had reminded her just how much she craved Lexa, her humor, her intelligence, her touch. She would do anything for this woman, she realized. She was no longer surprised at how strongly she yearned for Lexa.

With the lieutenant gone and Lexa asleep, Clarke let the tears she had been holding back fall freely. They were full of worry and longing and the hope that they could make it through this. This was the most afraid that she had ever been. She and Lexa had already been fighting the odds: relationships were difficult enough when people weren’t deployed. But here, with Lexa broken, and Clarke haunted, she wondered if they were strong enough to make it.

When the tears had run dry, Clarke wiped her nose and reminded herself of what Lexa needed from her. Drugged or not, Lexa had been deadly serious about telling her how much she needed her. The thought warmed her and replaced the anxiety, at least for the moment.

Having recovered somewhat, she picked up her book again. “So Lexa, I think it’s time we talked about how you shouldn’t mention my boobs in front of other people.”

Clarke imagined how Lexa would respond, with something sarcastic and probably thick with innuendo. But Lexa just breathed, steady once again.

“In retaliation,” Clarke continued, “I’m going to read the first chapter of this book to you in a Russian accent.” She began using the accent, saying “My comrades tell me it is terrible.”

Maybe Clarke just imagined it, but she thought she saw a ghost of a smile cross Lexa’s lips.

**********

“Sergeant Griffin.”

Clarke felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her softly. A numb ache in her neck encouraged her to lift up her head and analyze where she was. White sheets, steady beeping, bleach, sunlight peeking through the window… 

“I'm still at the hospital, aren't I?” Clarke realized with a groan. She wiped a spot of drool from the side of her mouth. 

“It's the end of my shift, and I figured you have somewhere to be,” 2Lt Maya Vie said with some amusement. “As much as this feels like a full-time job, I'm sure.” 

Clarke was almost too afraid to look at her watch, but she did and was relieved to see that she still had half an hour to get to the squadron for her flight. Miracles do exist, in the form of kind Butterbars new to the Air Force. 

“Thank you so much, Lieutenant,” Clarke said sincerely. “I won't make a habit of this. I just… I wanted to be there, if she woke up again.” 

“She'll wake up again, especially if you're around. See you tonight?” 

“Definitely. I owe you one. Or a lot more than that, LT.” 

With that, Clarke hurried out of the hospital, squinting at the bright sunlight. She grabbed food to go from the chow hall on her way to the squadron.

She couldn't believe how well she had slept at the hospital. She hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in weeks, constantly plagued by dreams and flashbacks of the choices she had been forced to make in Afghanistan. But sitting there, crouched in the chair with her arms on Lexa's bed, she had slept a dreamless sleep. Either her exhaustion had finally caught up to her, or being near Lexa was rejuvenating for the both of them.

When Clarke reached the squadron compound, the place was a frenzy of activity. People were moving ladders, sorting through toolboxes, whispering to each other in heated conversations. It all looked very serious but also very non work-related. Clarke was almost too tired and pre-occupied with Lexa's recovery to care too much, but 1Lt Bellamy's aggravated expression gave her pause. 

“What's going on, LT?” Clarke asked, nudging him softly. 

He just shook his head, watching the other lieutenants and a few captain's assessing the elevated wooden platform that served as the squadron’s smoke pit. “It's all going to hell, and there's nothing we can do about it.” 

“Accurate, but that’s not much of an explanation,” Clarke pointed out. “What are they--” She watched as a lieutenant took a sledgehammer to one of the support beams of the smoke pit. “Are they knocking it down? Why would they do that?” 

“I'll give you one guess,” Bellamy growled, glaring back at the command tent. 

Chief Sydney stood with her hands behind her back, looking pleased with herself. Every impact of the sledgehammer seemed to make her smile grow just a little bit wider. But when she saw Clarke, her smile dropped dropped all at once. She waved her over.

Unfortunately, Clarke had no choice but to leave Bellamy and the demolition behind.

The Chief's glare grew the closer Clarke walked, and Clarke suspected she knew the reason. It had actually taken longer than she had expected for word to travel back to her and the commander about the interview she had botched up the week before. But with Lexa in the hospital, it hadn't even crossed her mind.

“The commander and I want to talk to you. Immediately,” the Chief demanded. 

“I have my briefing in 15 minutes, Chief. Shouldn't the mission come first?” Clarke knew it would make her angry.

The muscles in Chief Sydney's jaw twitched. “This won't take long. And fix your damn hair. It looks like you woke up five seconds ago.” 

Well, she wasn't far off. Clarke tucked back a few unruly hairs into her bun, as she followed the Chief into the command tent and down the hall to LtCol Thelonious’ office.

He looked up expectantly from his computer, stern. “Remain standing, Sergeant.” 

Clarke snapped to attention as soon as she was in the office. This was it. They were finally going to chew her out for the interview. Clarke cared less about it than she knew she should.

“Staff Sergeant Griffin,” LtCol Thelonious began, folding his hands on his desk. “You were given an enormous opportunity, a chance to outshine your peers and have your courage known throughout the AOR.” 

Clarke was staring past his shoulder. None of this talk was a surprise to her.

“You embarrassed me,” he seethed. “I would have written your Bronze Star commendation myself. But worse, you embarrassed General Shumway. And embarrassing a general has consequences.”

Clarke gulped despite herself. “Sir, let me--” 

“I was not finished, Sergeant,” the commander seethed. “I don't know what nonsense this is, that you can't remember what you did. You described it perfectly well to me just days before your interview. Selective amnesia is not becoming of an NCO.” 

Chief Sydney stepped forward slightly, earning a nod from the colonel. “I've been asking about you, Sergeant. Everyone speaks highly of your work performance, but they mentioned someone you met about three months ago. A Marine.” 

Clarke glared at her, which only seemed to increase her satisfaction. 

“I discovered some shocking things,” the Chief said smugly, taking out her phone from her pocket. She held it in front of Clarke's face. 

It was a dark picture, but Clarke recognized it. It was inside the building where salsa dancing lessons were held. Despite the darkness, she could still discern her and Lexa's side profile, Lexa's lips hovering just above her own.  One of her hands was placed securely on her ass. 

It didn't take long for Clarke to figure out who had taken the photo. Finn Collins. He had picked a fight with Lexa, and she had humiliated him in front of everyone. That, and Clarke's continual refusal to date him, had no doubt spurred him to share that photo with the Chief.

Chief Sydney replaced the phone in her pocket, her hands moving behind her back to the parade rest that seemed to be her natural standing position. “Do you deny that is you? Or that you and the Marine had been kissing that night, in violation of AFI 36-2903?” 

Clarke couldn't stop the slightest upturn of her lips, remembering the kiss. The reaction was not lost on the Chief, but she just raised her eyebrow, demanding a response.

“We danced, and we kissed,” Clarke affirmed, laying her best glare on Chief Sydney. “But so did everyone else in that dance class. People go to salsa dancing to fuck each other with clothes on. This is sounding like a witch hunt.”

Clarke's temper was rising, and with it, her disrespect of misguided authority. How someone could earn the highest enlisted rank and have so little understanding of enlisted troops was beyond her.

LtCol Thelonious slammed his hands on his desk. “That’s enough, Sergeant. You don’t want to dig yourself further into this hole.” He exchanged a look with Chief Sydney. “In light of the Chief’s evidence and your own admission, I must take disciplinary action against you. I would normally begin by taking you off of flying status.” 

Clarke could barely mask the disgust in her voice. “But you need me. None of the other aeromedical techs are able to fly for another few days.”  

“And what would you think if we canceled those flights?” he responded, eyes stony. “If we failed to evacuate the wounded and let them suffer and die in remote outposts around Afghanistan, because of you? Would you be comfortable bearing the responsibility of dozens of dead due to your lack of professionalism?”

“Would you be comfortable with that? Sir?” Clarke retorted. “I’ve heard you’re planning on retiring next year. Might be difficult if your squadron failed to perform its primary mission during your time as commander.”

Clarke could see the muscles in his cheeks working, but he managed to maintain his composure. “And this is why we’ve decided to issue you a letter of reprimand. But rest assured that Chief Sydney and I will be investigating you further. If we find that you’ve done anything else illegal, no matter how small, since you’ve been a part of my squadron, you will be duly punished.”

Chief Sydney picked up a piece of paper from the desk and proceeded to read. “On July 14th, you violated AFI 36-2903 by showing public displays of affection with another military member…” She droned on for several minutes, finally concluding with, “You neglected your responsibility to act in a professional manner at all times while in uniform and deployed in a combat zone. You are hereby reprimanded!” 

Clarke had a hard time believing that the two leaders of her squadron were wasting their time reading her a letter about how badly she had fucked up three months ago, but here they were. The longer she was deployed, the more disgusted she became with how things worked out there.

“Do you understand the charges that have been brought against you?” LtCol Thelonious asked her, looking more content now that Clarke had been disciplined. 

“I do, sir,” Clarke responded with the little respect for him that she could muster. 

Chief Sydney handed her the letter, putting her hands behind her back once again. “You have three days to respond with a rebuttal. Needless to say, the commander and I won’t be submitting your bronze star paperwork.” 

“I never wanted it anyway,” Clarke said honestly, earning another glare from the Chief. “Is that all? I need to prepare for my flight today.” 

“Dismissed, Sergeant.” LtCol Thelonious waved her out of the office.

Clarke about-faced sharply, the letter in her hand feeling like a lead weight.

She let the door of the command tent slam shut behind her and proceeded to the smoke pit, where the group of pilots were still gathered. They were discussing which support beams of the smoke pit structure they should take out next with the sledgehammer. 

1Lt Bellamy blanched when he saw her. “What happened to you?” 

“It’s nothing,” Clarke lied, folding the letter of reprimand and placing it into her flight suit pocket. “But I was wondering if I could help take a swing at the smoke pit? It’d be nice to hit something right now.” 

“Right. And nothing’s wrong,” Bellamy replied. But he still called over the lieutenant with the sledgehammer. 

Clarke took it and swung until her arms ached. The smoke pit was down in a matter of minutes.

 

**********

Clarke just about fell over, when she walked into Lexa's hospital room and found the Marine staring up at her. 

“Oh my God, Lexa, you're awake!” 

Clarke dropped her bag at the door and ran to her side, kissing Lexa's forehead and cheek and really any part of exposed skin that she could find. 

Lexa laughed weakly at her. “I can't tell if you're happy to see me.” 

Clarke pulled back just enough to look into Lexa's green eyes. They were tired and didn't shine like they usually did, Clarke suspected from the pain medication. But they were open, and Lexa's full lips were smiling at her, and it was all too much for Clarke to be able to control herself.

She leaned back down again, and their lips connected. It began softly, as Clarke tried to communicate all of the care and worry that she had experienced over the last two weeks, but then Lexa's tongue was in her mouth, and Clarke lost track of time, moaning against her.

She just managed to pull away to find Lexa grinning at her. “Now I can tell you're happy to see me,” Lexa joked, voice still overflowing with exhaustion but lighter than Clarke imagined it would be. 

“And no amount of pain medication can hold you back,” Clarke said, pulling up the chair as close to the bed as she could and sitting beside her. “How long have you been awake? How are you feeling? Has the doctor talked to you yet?” Clarke wanted to say so much to her, and get so many answers about what had happened. She imagined that Lexa must still be so tired and, and she was afraid that their time together would be limited before Lexa drifted back to sleep. 

All of these worries must have shown on Clarke’s face, because Lexa reached up towards her. She couldn't quite reach her though, with her other shoulder still in the sling and resting on the bed.

Lexa smiled at her, as Clarke took her hand and placed it on her cheek. “God, you're beautiful,” Lexa whispered.

Clarke closed her eyes at the touch, and from hearing her voice, and really from just being so overwhelmed by what was happening. She had been keeping  it together for so many hours now, after getting chewed out from the Commander and Chief, that she felt herself unraveling from just a few words from Lexa. And it felt so damn good to be touched by her again. She didn’t know how she had survived for so long without it, and she didn’t want to go without it again.

Clarke knew that she shouldn’t talk about it. She remembered what 2Lt Vie had told her, about letting Lexa be the one to bring up the accident, but she couldn’t hold it back. Having Lexa here in front of her, still connected to so many machines and looking so pale, she couldn’t pretend that things were OK. 

“I can’t believe that this happened to you,” Clarke said, her voice quiet and betraying her all of her fears. 

“Shhhh, Clarke. It doesn’t matter how I got here. What matters is that I’m here, and you’re here.” Lexa wagged an eyebrow at her. “And, I have a private room with my own bed, if you catch my drift.”

Clarke laughed at her, sniffling and feeling like she couldn’t possibly look as beautiful as Lexa thought that she was at the moment. “I’d have to be deaf and blind to not catch your drift. But you’re not as good at avoiding questions as you think you are.” Clarke kissed Lexa's palm and held her hand on the bed. “Let’s start with an easy one. Is this the first time you've woken up today?” 

Lexa had tilted her head toward her and took a moment to answer her. “Once this afternoon. There was a boring doctor. He just kept asking me about my breathing this and my shoulder that. He liked me avoiding questions even less than you do.” 

“Did he kiss you when you woke up, too?”

Lexa shot her a look. “I'd punch him in the throat if he tried.” 

“I don't think you'll be doing any punching for a few more weeks.” 

Clarke had meant it as a joke, but Lexa's face fell. “That's what Major Jackson was saying. He said I won’t be doing much of anything for a while.” 

Clarke hated the haunted look that had fallen over Lexa. She hated the person who had planted the bomb and whoever’s house it was where she had been hurt. She even almost hated herself for bringing up Lexa's injuries, but they would have to talk about them, eventually. “Does hanging out with your girlfriend count for something? You're going to have a hard time getting me to leave, you know.” 

“Hanging out with you counts for everything,” Lexa said, giving her a smile that made her heart ache. “I'm glad you're here.” 

“How are you feeling? Are you tired?” 

Lexa yawned for a solid five seconds, then shook her head. “No.” 

“Very convincing,” Clarke chided. She was still so amazed at how well Lexa was recovering, and how it had taken her so little time to wake up and be able to talk to her. This woman was stronger than Clarke ever could have imagined.

She brushed back Lexa's hair with her fingers, overcome by her thoughts. “This isn't how I expected seeing you again, you know.” 

“And this isn't how I wanted to see you again,” Lexa sighed, head leaning in to Clarke's touch. 

“You almost broke my rule. The one rule that I gave you. How are all the other girlfriend rules going to go?” 

“I did come back alive, so technically I didn’t break your rule.” 

“I know you did the best you could. But no more close calls, OK? With any of the rules.” 

“I don't even know what the other rules are.” 

“I'll have to tell you about them.” Clarke watched as Lexa's eyes drooped closer and closer to shut. “But maybe not today. I think you've had enough excitement for one day.”

But a sudden thought stirred Lexa wide awake again, and she looked at Clarke insistently. “What happened to Blake?”

“She's alright. She's in the room next door. Raven told me she hasn't woken up yet, but she will soon.” 

Lexa nodded, seemingly satisfied. She stared so piercingly at Clarke that she could feel her cheeks reddening.

“What is it?” Clarke asked, concerned.

“I love you, Clarke,” Lexa said, her voice barely audible. “I don't know how I thought I could fight it before. I thought that if I just didn't talk to you for a while, or didn't see you for long enough, that I would stop loving you… But I couldn’t. And now look what I’ve done… ” 

The pain in Lexa’s voice almost broke her.

Clarke took her hand in both of hers and brought it up to her lips, kissing it tenderly. “You survived. And you did what you had to do. I love you too, Lexa. We're going to make it through this. We've already made it through so much.” 

Lexa’s gaze flicked between both of Clarke’s eyes, as if she was assessing the truth of what she had said. But finally, she gave Clarke the smallest of smiles, even as her eyes fluttered shut. “I'm so fucking lucky that you picked up Costia’s picture in the chow hall that day… What would I do without you?” 

The way that Lexa tightened her grip on Clarke's hand, as if she was about to lose her, made Clarke's heart skip a beat. “You're never going to have to find out,” Clarke said, as Lexa's breathing steadied and she drifted off into sleep.

 

**********

Clarke had stayed for another hour by Lexa’s side, running their conversation through her head over and over again.

Lexa had said that she loved her. She said that she needed her. She said she didn't know what she would do without her.

Even though it was excruciating to see Lexa injured and immobilized, Lexa’s confession made Clarke’s chest feel fuller than it ever had before. Clarke had no intention of leaving this woman, ever. She remembered when they had first gotten coffee together, and how Clarke had thought it would be a fun, simple deployment fling.

How wrong she had been. And Clarke had never been more glad to be wrong. 

It was already late, and artificial lights illuminated the concrete path leading out of the hospital. Streetlights almost seemed like too much of a luxury out here and were certainly a target for insurgents to aim their rockets at. But for the moment, Clarke could almost pretend that she was back in Irvine, leaving the hospital where she had begun her internship a few months before her deployment. How would it feel to have Lexa waiting for her at home, rather than having to leave her behind at the hospital like this?

Clarke wasn’t one for fantasies, but that one seemed nice. But the need to salute a passing Army officer, and the roar of F-15s taking off with full afterburner from the nearby flight line, somewhat ruined the illusion.

Clarke was making the turn onto the main road leading back to her dorm, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She had to do a double take to realize that it was Chief Sydney, leaning against one of the SUVs parked along the road. 

Clarke stopped, glaring at her, but it didn’t seem to faze the Chief. She glanced past Clarke at the hospital, and the slow grin that spread across her face made Clarke want to throw up. 

Shit.

She knew the Chief was on the prowl for more reasons to punish Clarke.

And now she was about to find out that Clarke was still seeing Lexa.


	16. Seek and Destroy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's a gold star, Clarke's a fighter, and Chief Sydney continues to be an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I updated the fic's total chapter count to 18, because I underestimated how much I would write for this chapter (and maybe I'm not quite ready for the story to be done, either).
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! I appreciate all of your kudos and messages more than you can imagine.

Clarke snuggled further into Lexa's uninjured shoulder, if that was even possible. Her leg was wrapped around Lexa’s, or Lexa’s was wrapped around hers. It was hard to be sure which it was. While cuddling in uniforms and combat boots may have looked ridiculous, Clarke could confirm that it felt pretty damn good.

They had been lying practically on top of each other for the last two hours binging Jessica Jones, which Clarke had downloaded from the “morale drive” at the squadron. Despite every Soldier, Airman, Marine, and Sailor’s commitment to uphold the Constitution of the United States, they were all evidently huge fans of pirated media. She was sure that Chief Sydney would delete the morale drive as soon as she discovered it.

Fucking Chief Sydney. 

Clarke was taking a risk, spending so much time with Lexa and being quite literally entangled with her in the hospital bed. But she couldn’t stay away, even if she tried. Even with the Chief trying to punish them, Clarke couldn’t stay away. She remembered back when she used to make logical choices. Before she had met Lexa.

Clarke breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of the woman next to her. Lexa smelled clean, but a generic kind of clean, like she was using whatever kind of soap they had lying around the hospital. Clarke wondered what Lexa would use when she was back home. Was she a tropical fruit fragrance kind of girl? … Definitely not. Fragrance-free? Too boring. Vanilla, maybe? Clarke thought she might like Lexa smelling like vanilla.

As Clarke’s deployment approached its end, she found herself thinking about her future outside of Afghanistan, and really believed that it was going to happen. With only a month left, she could actually let herself think about it. The fresh vegetables, cotton sheets with a real thread count, alcohol that wasn’t Monty’s moonshine… and what soap her girlfriend liked to buy.

In a short amount of time, Lexa had managed to weave herself into Clarke’s present and her future. It didn’t make any sense to Clarke. But for once, she was satisfied with things not making sense.

Clarke’s yawn was cut off by an involuntary cringe at the latest act of violence in the show. Lucky for her, nothing in the show had triggered her… yet. She was still dealing with the fact that she could now be triggered. She didn’t want to use  _ that  _ term to describe herself, not yet. Not while she was still deployed and seeing Lexa and treating wounded patients and getting rocket attacked. 

But when she got home, Clarke would have to deal with it, whatever she wanted to call it. She thought her doctor would call it PTSD. She didn’t want to name it just yet. If names gave things power, then it was better just to call it sleepless nights and trying not to flinch at anything that sounded like a gunshot.

Clarke slid her cheek on Lexa’s shoulder, trying to focus on what was right in her life at the moment. At the top of the list was the object of her cuddling.

The hospital bed was barely large enough for the two of them, but it somehow felt like there was more than enough room. They would have been laying like this, no matter how large the bed was. Clarke thought about her queen-sized bed that was waiting for her back in her apartment… and how Lexa could be in it, and how they would probably find other things to do than binge watch TV shows.

Clarke almost gasped at what was happening in the show. “As crazy as our lives are, at least it's not ‘mind controlled by previous boyfriend’ crazy,” she told Lexa.

The Marine turned her head toward Clarke. “Being mind-controlled by a boyfriend would be difficult for me, considering the lack of boyfriends,” she said into Clarke’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine. Their continuous contact over the past hours had done nothing to detract from Clarke's excitement of touching her. It was difficult for her to understand how being near someone could feel simultaneously so safe and so thrilling. 

“Are you one of those gold stars?” Clarke teased. “Haven't ever let a man near you?” 

“It's not from their lack of trying,” Lexa admitted, distracted by the episode again. “But I was always more attracted to the… female energy.” 

“ _ Energy _ . Is that what we're going to call it now.” Clarke smirked, pleased with the blush that was traveling up Lexa’s neck. She had realized that it wasn’t hard to fluster Lexa, but it was certainly fun. 

“Yes. Energy.” Lexa raised an eyebrow in challenge, but the effect was lessened by her now glowing cheeks. “And how would you describe it?” 

“When you were drugged up, I think you would have used different words.” Clarke gestured in front of her chest. “Rack. Melons. Upper-body endowments.” 

“I'm less eloquent when I'm high on drugs.” 

“But more honest,” Clarke said, inching closer to Lexa's lips. 

Lexa’s gaze flicked down to her lips. She never needed much encouragement. She leaned in eagerly, meeting her halfway. It was slow, languid, as if they had all the time in the world.

Clarke was beginning to think that they might.

Lexa broke away slowly, her eyelids fluttering open again with a look that Clarke could only describe as dreamy. She loved that she had that effect on Lexa, and that Lexa didn’t try to hide it.

“And what about you?” Lexa finally managed to look back into Clarke’s eyes. The connection was instantaneous. “Is there a trail of men's broken hearts in your wake? Should I be concerned that you'll be mind controlled like Jessica?” 

Clarke just wanted to kiss her again, but she told herself this was a good time to exercise some self control. After all, Clarke knew about Costia and how important she had been to Lexa, but Lexa knew practically nothing about her dating past. “It’s a short trail. One guy in high school, one in college, and one woman in college, but nothing that serious. All of them didn’t like me being too busy studying to spend any time with them, go figure.”

Lexa cocked her head, pausing the episode on Clarke’s laptop. It was for the best--neither of them had been paying attention for some time now. “So I’m the second woman you’ve been with?

“Been with? Jesus.” Clarke laughed even more at Lexa’s confusion. “That just sounded really old-fashioned. ‘ _ And the woman doth lay with another woman, and lo, it was good. _ ”

“Answer the question, Clarke,” Lexa said, poking her in the ribs. Clarke thought the movement was supposed to make her question sound less severe, but Lexa’s stare was steady. Clarke could tell that she was very much invested in her answer.

“We were talking about dating before. So yes, you’re the second woman I’ve dated. But you’re not the second woman I’ve… been with.” 

“Oh?”

Clarke shrugged against her. “I went to a lot of house parties. Tequila happened. I think you saw enough of drunk me at the British compound to know what happened next.”

Lexa just nodded, her cheek muscles clenching.

Clarke could feel Lexa’s body tensing beside her. “Lexa? Are you OK? Or is this some kind of retrograde jealousy?”

“I am not jealous, Clarke.”

“Your grinding teeth say otherwise.” 

Lexa took a deep breath. “The thought of you with someone else may… upset me.”

That was the understatement of the year. “Lucky for you, that’s something you don’t have to worry about now. I’m not one for polyamorous or open relationships. One person is more than enough for me.”

Clarke watched as Lexa’s worry slowly melted away. Her arm tightened around Clarke, and she kissed her neck softly. “It’s enough for me, too,” Lexa said against her neck. “And I respect the choices that you made before. But… did you never really fall for anyone? Before me, of course.”

“Well…” Clarke drawled suggestively. That drew Lexa away from her neck to stare at her, hard. Clarke willed her face to betray nothing. “There was this beautiful girl in my class.”

“Oh?” Lexa’s poker face was actually the worst. Or at least it was to Clarke.

“I didn’t know how to show her that I liked her,” Clarke continued, barely holding back her smile, “so I chased her around the playground and threw dirt at her. She wasn't really into that.” 

Lexa realized she had been played and rolled her eyes. “Your methods have improved slightly since then.” 

“Or maybe I don't like you as much as I liked Harper in first grade,” Clarke offered.

Lexa smirked at her, gaze drifting down to Clarke’s lips once again. “Hmm. That’s one possibility.”

“And what’s the other?”

Lexa shrugged with her good shoulder. “We just haven’t made it to a playground yet.” 

That drew a laugh out of Clarke, and she closed the distance between them. She was never safe. They could be talking about anything--high cauliflower prices, the best season of Lost, anything--and she could still feel herself being pulled towards Lexa’s lips. It was generally easier not to fight it and just allow herself to kiss Lexa whenever she pleased. It wasn’t a bad arrangement.

Clarke's body was twisting against Lexa's as she migrated closer, and Lexa's smile contorted into a grimace for a split second. 

“I'm so sorry,” Clarke said with worry, pulling back. “Did I hurt you?” 

Even with Lexa recovering, she had to be so careful not to jostle her broken collarbone. It didn't help that Lexa usually refused to acknowledge that Clarke had hurt her with anything more than a sharp intake of breath. Lexa wasn't one to do anything that would make Clarke distance herself from her, it seemed. 

“I'm fine, Clarke.” It was almost convincing. “You don't need to treat me like a porcelain doll. I won't break.” 

“Says the woman who is lying in bed with her arm and shoulder still in a sling.”

Lexa turned stony with that comment, but didn’t look away.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” Clarke reasoned, turning herself sideways on the bed to face her girlfriend straight-on.

Lexa raised her chin. “We’ll talk about it, if you tell me about how you’re still not sleeping well.”

“This isn’t about me right now,” Clarke said, sighing. She knew that Lexa had to have known, with the bags under Clarke’s eyes and how she yawned far more frequently than any person should. But Lexa had no right to interrogate her about her sleep habits when she still hadn’t explained to her the full extent of her injuries. “I know that Major Jackson has told you everything. He’s not the type to pull any punches. He won’t tell me anything about you, because of patient confidentiality. Even Lieutenant Vie won’t. If you want me to know about your injuries, you have to tell me yourself.”

The muscles along Lexa’s jaw twitched. Clarke didn’t think she would be this upset just about the pain or the inconvenience of having to recover. She wondered what else was going on in Lexa’s head.

“It’s not easy for me to talk about,” Lexa finally said, looking away.

“I know.” Clarke took her hand tentatively and was relieved when Lexa didn’t pull away from her. She had seen her distraught, and angry, and afraid, but this was the hardest to deal with. This was Lexa not wanting to admit what was bothering her, and Clarke suspected that it extended far beyond a broken collarbone. 

When Lexa remained silent, Clarke took her face in both of her hands, being sure not to twist her at all but holding on firmly. “Listen to me, Lexa. I love you. You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here for you.” 

Lexa took in a deep breath and finally looked at Clarke. She looked more scared than Clarke had ever seen her before. “You don’t deserve to put up with this,” Lexa whispered. 

“Hey.” Clarke wiped at a tear that had spilled down Lexa’s cheek with her thumb. Seeing her like this, so broken, shook Clarke more than she thought was possible. “I’m certainly not ‘putting up’ with you. I want to be here. I want you to get better. And I hope that you want me to be here.” 

Lexa took Clarke’s hand from her cheek and kissed her palm. She still appeared to be waging a war within herself. “I do, Clarke. More than anything.” She looked at the ceiling as more tears threatened to fall, but she held them back. She let out a bitter laugh that did nothing to put Clarke at ease. “It’s not even that bad.”

Clarke squeezed her hand, indicating for her to continue. She wondered if she and Lexa’s definitions of “that bad” were the same.

“This would be so much easier with a drink,” Lexa continued, glancing at Clarke. “Any whiskey in that care package you brought over?” 

“I’m afraid not.” She looked over to the care package on the table and read the tag. “I don’t think the Episcopalian Church of Fort Dodge, Iowa would really be into that sort of thing.” 

“Pity.” Lexa was calmer now, her breathing evened out. “I should really just be grateful that I have all of my limbs. Blake, too. Not everyone in our battalion gets so lucky.” 

“You don’t have to feel bad that other people got more injured than you.” 

“I know that, but...” Lexa trailed off, lost in her own mind. “Major Jackson told me I should be able to walk around soon. That the tears in my intestines should be healed enough that I won’t rip them again.”

“That’s good, Lexa.” Clarke was trying to be positive, but not  _ too _ positive. She knew how annoying it was for someone to keep making you look on the bright side, when all you wanted was for people to understand what you were going through.

“The collarbone isn’t healing right. It’ll probably need surgery.” Lexa stared straight ahead, her voice flat. Clarke just wanted to hug her--really hug her, not the side-hug that she was forced to do because of Lexa’s injuries. She wanted to hold her until the pain went away.

Lexa was silent for so long, that Clarke wondered if that was all she was going to say. But finally, she forced out the breath she had been holding. “Major Jackson said I’ll have limited mobility in my arm. I won’t be able to lift anything heavy. Won’t be able to shoot a weapon. Do a pull-up. Play basketball.”

With an impairment like that, Clarke knew that Lexa wouldn’t be able to stay in the Marine Corps. Or at least she wouldn’t be able to serve in her current capacity. She might be able to stay on in a support role, but that wasn’t who Lexa was. She would want to be on the front lines, fighting and struggling and making a difference. She’d never be satisfied with a desk job. 

“I’m sorry, Lexa,” she said, knowing it was inadequate. But even more than hearing about Lexa’s injuries, she hated how defeated she looked. At least for now, some of her spark had gone out. “I hope it doesn’t come to all that.” 

“It’s better to be prepared for the worst. Maybe it’ll turn out better. Maybe not.” She gave Clarke an apologetic glance. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this. There’s no point. We don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

“You know one thing for sure,” Clarke said, leaning closer to her, her fingers trailing up Lexa’s arm. “Just because you won’t be able to play in the WNBA doesn’t mean I’ll leave you.” 

Lexa let herself smile, just the slightest bit. After the tears, and the hopelessness, Clarke thought it lit up the entire room. “I’ll probably still play better than you,” Lexa said. “You’re no Skylar Diggins.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You know full well that I don’t know who that is.” 

“Exactly.” Lexa sunk deeper into the bed. “Between all that and some chronic headaches and partial deafness, I’ll be your typical, disabled vet.” 

“Partial deafness?” Clarke asked, confused. “How have I not noticed before?”

“You always sit on my left side,” Lexa explained. “That ear was away from the blast. My right ear’s pretty fucked, but according to the Major, the VA has some hearing aids that won’t make me look like an 80 year old man. Lucky for you.”

“Lucky for you, too,” Clarke said.

They looked at each other for a long time, Clarke trying to understand everything that Lexa had said, and everything that she hadn’t. Everything would be different for Lexa when she returned home. But Clarke hoped she could help her transition as best she could.

The sound of the hospital room’s door opening all at once and 2Lt Maya Vie rushing into the room made Clarke jump. Despite all their talk about Lexa’s injuries, she had almost forgotten they were still in the hospital.

“She’s coming,” the Lieutenant told Clarke breathlessly. 

Clarke frowned at her, taking a long moment to understand. “The Chief,” she whispered, as 2Lt Vie confirmed with a nod. “But how did you--”

“There isn’t a lot of time,” she interrupted, glancing back into the hallway. “You should get out of here. Now” 

Clarke ignored Lexa’s protests, as she grabbed her boonie cap from the nightstand and hurried into the hallway beside 2Lt Vie. Voices to the right attracted her gaze, and she froze in place. 

Chief Sydney was arguing with one of the nurses at the intersection with the next hallway, but she hadn’t yet looked in Clarke’s direction. 

If she saw Clarke coming out of Lexa’s room, it would be over. That would be all the evidence she needed to prove that Clarke was having an inappropriate relationship. That would give the Chief and LtCol Thelonious the fuel to get their revenge on her for her failed interview, and it would make Lexa’s life a living hell, too. Even more so than it already was.

But before the Chief turned down the hallway, 2Lt Vie practically pushed her into Octavia’s room next door and slammed the door shut behind her. 

“Hey Griffin, you ever heard of knocking?” 

Raven glared at her as she zipped up her flight suit, covering up the purple bra that had been the subject of Octavia’s fondling the moment before.

“The Chief's on her way,” Clarke said in a huff, moving past Octavia’s bed further into the room. 

“When?” Raven demanded.

“Like right now.” Clarke crouched behind Octavia’s bed, trying to ignore how much like a child this made her feel. Leave it to the Air Force to make her play a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek.

“Don't get your panties in a bunch,” Octavia said, pouting at Raven's now covered chest. “You can hide from your scary power-tripping Chief in here. But I say you should face her head on. American Gladiator style.” 

“Great suggestion,” Clarke said dryly. “But for now, I need to make sure she doesn't court martial me and Lexa for an inappropriate relationship.” 

“You're gonna have to do something about this, Clarke,” Raven murmured to her.

“I know.” Clarke really did did. But how did you deal with your senior enlisted leader who had declared a war against you out of spite?

Voices from the next room over signalled Chief Sydney's arrival into Lexa's room. The thin wall between the rooms let Clarke hear everything if she focused.

“Hello, Lieutenant. Sergeant. I'm Chief Master Sergeant Sydney. I wanted to check in on the patients today. Make sure they're doing well. We're always here to help, you know.” 

“Thanks, Chief,” Clarke heard 2Lt Vie say with apparent sincerity. “Sergeant Carey is making great progress. She should be on her way back stateside in a few days.” 

Clarke's blood ran cold. Was this news to Lexa too? Or just her? She knew she should be happy that Lexa was finally going home, where she wouldn't be in danger of being shot or blown up, but… That would take some time to process.

“Going home so soon, Sergeant?” Chief Sydney asked. “You're not going back outside the wire for round two?”

Lexa's voice was tight. “Well I was bombed. And shot. I think I'm ready to tap out for a while.” 

“I see, Sergeant. And what are you looking forward to most when you get back?” 

“Seeing my girlfriend again,” Lexa said without hesitation. 

“Oh?” Chief asked, the slightest hint of disgust in her voice. “How long have you known each other?” 

“I feel like I've known her my whole life.” 

Lexa went into a coughing fit, which Clarke was sure was staged. She hadn't coughed like that at all before. 

She heard 2Lt Vie clear her throat. “I think she needs to rest now, Chief. She’s been through a lot already.” 

“Of course, Lieutenant.” The Chief’s steps out of the room came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, and Lieutenant? I meant to ask you… has there been a certain Clarke Griffin coming around here? Staff Sergeant, blonde, flight suit, attitude problem?” 

“No, I don’t remember anyone like that,” 2Lt Vie lied smoothly. Clarke wanted to hug her. 

“Then you won’t mind if I keep visiting patients? I need to know that they’re all being taken care of adequately.” 

“Of course not, Chief. Why don’t I go with--”

“That won’t be necessary. Thanks for your time.”

Clarke’s heart sunk into her stomach. She heard the Chief’s footsteps leaving Lexa’s room, then making their way slowly down the hall. They paused on the other side of the door to Octavia’s room. 

“Shit,” Clarke couldn’t help but remark. This was not how she had seen today going.

“Chill, Griffin,” Raven chided. “You just gotta act cool. And stay the hell out of sight.” 

Raven started wiping off the desk on the other side of the room with a tissue when the Chief entered the room.

Chief Sydney glared at her, instantly suspicious. “Airman Reyes? What are you doing here?”

“Oh hey, Chief. I’m just volunteering here in my free time,” she said quietly, handling the volunteer badge that was clipped on to her name tape. “But we should keep it down--Lance Corporal Blake over there is asleep.” 

Clarke could only see Octavia’s side from where she was crouching, but she looked fast asleep. How Octavia had caught onto this without Raven telling her beforehand was a mystery.

“I can see that.” Chief Sydney’s voice was as loud as ever, as she scanned the room. “And what do they have you doing here? Dusting?” 

“Dusting, cleaning, talking with patients, the works,” Raven rattled off. “Major Jackson and Lieutenant Vie have been really great about letting me help out around here. It’s just not enough doing my job, you know? I want to give back as much as I can. These guys deserve everything, don’t you think?”

Raven was laying it on thick, and Clarke loved it. It was just enough uber-patriotism to impress someone like the Chief. 

“They’re true heroes,” the Chief murmured, clearly distracted. “You haven’t seen Sergeant Griffin around, have you?” 

“No, not since my flight earlier today. She’s probably at the gym. She’s really into that, being in top physical shape.” 

Clarke always laughed. Raven was always telling her to work out more.

The Chief sounded disappointed. “The gym, of course. Well, keep up the good work. We don’t have enough selfless Airmen like you out here.” 

  
Her footsteps retreated, and Raven crossed over to the door and shut it. Clarke got up cautiously from behind the bed, her heartbeat still racing.

“Holy shit, Griffin,” Raven said, eyes wide. “She wants you bad.”

Octavia sat up in bed again and laughed. “And not in the fun way. She wants to ruin your life.” 

“Thanks for the encouragement, guys,” Clarke grumbled.“How doesn’t she have anything better to do? We’re at war.” 

“You did humiliate her in front of your commander on like her first day,” Octavia said, opening up a can of soda from her bedside table with a crack. 

“That’s not true. It was her first week, but not her first day.” Clarke crossed her arms, growing suspicious. “And since when have you been so involved in squadron politics?” 

“If by politics, you mean drama.” Octavia took a long swig of her soda. “And clearly I need to be involved, because you just brought your drama into my house.” 

“I may have shared a few details, Griff.” Raven had the good graces to look slightly embarrassed. “But good thing I did, because the Chief is seriously out to get you. Looks like you need all the help you can get to make it out of Afghanistan without an Article 15.”

“Shit.” Clarke sat in the chair next to Octavia’s bed and put her head in her hands. “Maybe I should have just given them the interview they wanted. Would have been easier than all this.”

“Fuck that!” Octavia said, earning a sharp look from Clarke. “I mean, from what Raven told me. It’s her fault I have opinions, remember.” 

Raven punched her lightly in the shoulder, sitting on the bed with her. “Thanks, traitor. Last time I nurse your ass back to health.” 

“It better be the last time,” Octavia said, looking at the bandages that still covered her arms and part of her neck. “I don’t plan on getting almost burned alive again, trust me.”

“Key word: almost.” Raven tucked some of Octavia’s hair behind her ear and looked at her with an obnoxious amount of affection. “But if you even think about pulling a stunt like that again, I may have to kill you.”

“Get in line,” Octavia said as a challenge. “As soon as Carey is able to walk over here, I’m never going to hear the end of it. And as soon as Gunny Anya, and Lieutenant Indra get home, fuck… they’re gonna blame me for not listening to anything they ever tried to teach me. But seriously, there was no way we could have known that bomb was there. There were no wires or anything, I swear to God.” 

This was the most that Clarke had heard about the IED, and it made her sick to her stomach. Lexa still hadn’t told her about it, but she didn’t blame her. She imagined that would be another hard truth to relive. 

“How is Carey coming along, anyway?” Octavia asked her. “It’s weird sharing a wall with her but not really being able to talk to her.”

“She’s good,” Clarke said automatically, trying to push the IED from her mind. “I guess she won’t be here for too much longer. She should be healed enough to head home soon.” 

Raven knew her too well to not notice how conflicted Clarke felt about that. “She’ll be able to get better treatment back home, right? And we’re out of here before you know it, too.”

“Yeah.” Clarke breathed deeply, forcing herself to not think about how it would be to not seeing Lexa every day. “Do you mind checking the hallway for me, Raven? I don’t want to have a lethal run-in with the Chief.”

Raven hopped off the bed and rolled her eyes. “That bitch is seriously crazy. But you really got to deal with her. Like, more than just run away from her. She’s going to catch you eventually.” 

“And what do you suggest I do?” Clarke asked. She didn’t care that she sounded petulant. 

Raven opened the door and peeked her head out, throwing a thumbs up behind her body at Clarke. She stepped back in the room and opened the door wide. “If she’s declared a vendetta against you, you have to declare one right back. Dig up some dirt on her. Nobody can be in the Air Force since the dark ages and have a squeaky clean record.” 

Clarke ran the idea through her mind, her frown disappearing. It was better than anything she had come up with. “That’s not a bad idea. I might need some help, though.” 

“Good thing you know a couple of computer nerds in the squadron, right? If there’s anything available on the internet, they can find it.” Raven winked at her. “You got this. She’s not taking you down.” 

“Thanks. To the both of you. That was an Oscar-worthy performance.” Clarke paused in the doorway. “Would you guys like me to close this? So you can get back to whatever you were doing before I came in?”

Clarke watched, as Octavia’s eyes roamed down Raven’s body. “Yes,  _ please _ .”

Laughing, Clarke closed the door behind her and let out a sigh.

Raven was right--she couldn’t keep on like this, just hoping that the Chief would never find her with Lexa or would just stop caring. But the Chief was too determined--and evidently had far too much time on her hands--for Clarke to trust that she would give up. And there was no way that Clarke was going to stop seeing Lexa before she left. It was too risky to keep going like she was.

The door to Lexa’s room was open, and 2Lt Vie had already left. Clarke knew that she would have to thank her about a million times for what she had done today, and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

Lexa smiled at her weakly, as Clarke shut the door behind her. Clarke recognized that look--the Lieutenant must have just given her another round of pain medication. She was taking less now than she had been, but she was still on a strict schedule. “Why didn’t you tell me that she is actually  _ insane _ ?” Lexa asked grumpily. 

“I thought I had?” Clarke said, sitting on the bed next to her. “I didn’t use that exact word, but I figured you’d be able to connect the dots. You’re a smart girl.” 

“I was expecting misguided. Overly enthusiastic. But not insane.” 

Clarke kissed her forehead, trying not to laugh at her. “I’ll use a thesaurus next time I describe someone to you then.” 

“Look under asshole.” Lexa’s eyes were fluttering shut, like they always did after she took her medication. “Cause you’ll find Chief Sydney there…”

“So I’m guessing you didn’t like her?” Clarke asked as she smoothed the baby hairs away from Lexa’s forehead.

Lexa shook her head, which would have made her flinch from her shoulder pain if she weren’t so high. “No. I would have beat her up, but I can’t move very well right now.” 

“For now. But you’ll get better. Then you can beat up whoever you want for me… within reason.” 

“I’ll beat up that Finn guy again. He’s a double asshole for giving her our picture.” Lexa hesitated, reconsidering.” Did we look hot though?”

Clarke huffed a laugh. “Yeah, we looked hot. Super hot.” Lexa’s eyelids were firmly shut now. Clarke knew it would only be a few more minutes until she was asleep. Even though she knew Lexa might not be able to remember this conversation the next day, she had to ask. “Did you mean what you said? When Chief Sydney asked you about what you wanted to do when you get home?”

Lexa nodded again, weakly. “I said I want to see my girlfriend…” Her mumbles were becoming hard for Clarke to understand. “But I really want to do more to her than just look at her.” 

And then Lexa was asleep, a stupid smile on her face. Clarke couldn’t help the eye roll, even though she knew its effect was lost on Lexa. 

She loved this Marine. This stubborn, sarcastic, sappy, duty-driven, and, at least right now, delirious, Marine. 

Everything and everyone in Afghanistan was trying to keep them apart, but here they were. If they could survive this, they could survive anything.

  
  


**********

Clarke was not thrilled to admit that her close encounter with the Chief in Octavia’s hospital room had left her covered in a sheen of sweat that she couldn’t blame on Kandahar’s cooling fall temperatures. She made the short trip between her dorm room and the bathroom down the hall carrying her shower caddy in one hand and a towel in the other.

She and the other aircrew were definitely lucky to live in dorms like this: one to a room, restroom inside so that they didn’t have to get fully dressed in uniform every time they had to pee. From what Lexa had told her, even Marines back stateside didn't have accommodations this nice. She thought she had made the right decision of which branch to join… until she remembered how unbearable her leadership was. She would reserve her judgement until this situation was resolved.

She had never had a problem like this in four years in the Air National Guard. Nothing like Chief Sydney and Colonel Thelonious. How people could have their priorities so misplaced in a war zone was beyond her. 

Clarke turned on the water and let it warm up for a minute, as she stripped out of her uniform. 

She knew that Chief Sydney was one who enjoyed posturing, threatening, playing mind games. She wasn't the only one who could play that game. But without the rank to back her up, Clarke would need another weapon. 

She needed information, leverage. Something to hold over the Chief's head. Something that could ruin her reputation on base if it ever got out. Clarke could start a rumor, but that would only lead to the Chief fighting against her even more. No, she needed something true. Something so brutally true, that people would swear they knew all along. The Chief had to have made at least one mistake in her twenty-odd years in the Air Force

Clarke stepped into the lukewarm water, shivering slightly. If it were up to her, she would have waited for the water to get scalding hot before entering, but they were constantly being told about the importance of water conservation. All of their potable and non-potable water had to be trucked onto base, after all. 

The water was warming, and Clarke sighed in relief. She could feel the sweat washing off her body, even if the stress remained. Her muscles were always tight these days, except for those hours that she got to spend with Lexa. But even then, she worried about what Lexa was telling her… and more importantly, about what she wasn’t telling her.

With her eyes closed, she remembered her shower with Lexa all those weeks ago. The smile came unbidden to her lips. It felt like a lifetime ago, but she could almost feel Lexa’s body pressed against her, slick with water and with her anticipation, taut muscles and firm breasts and tattoos that begged to be traced over and over again… 

Clarke opened her eyes and brushed her soaking hair away from her face. She wasn’t here to think about Lexa. On the contrary, if she wanted to think about or touch Lexa at all over the next week or however long she was staying in Afghanistan, Clarke needed to figure out how to deal with Chief Sydney. 

A week? That was optimistic. Lieutenant Vie had said Lexa would be leaving in few days. Had Lexa known that? Or was that the first time the Lieutenant had told her that as well? 

Fuck. 

Clarke was not going to cower in hiding from the Chief during her last few days with Lexa before she headed home for more medical treatment. And God knew how long she would be in the hospital in the States. Clarke knew that Lexa hated being bedridden and would make as fast a recovery as she could, but still, how long would it be before they saw each other again after Clarke had returned home? 

Clarke remembered what it was like to only worry about if her college classmates liked her, or if her neighbors would stop having parties until 3am. None of that seemed to matter now. 

Now all her worries were tied up in one intelligent, witty, athletic, beautiful package that wore a Marine uniform and said her name in a way that sent a shiver through her every time. Clarke had always heard about people being blindsided by falling in love with whom they did, but she really did not see her deployment going like this. How could she have? Especially for someone like Clarke, who made plans and kept them, how could she know that returning a photo in Afghanistan could change her life forever? 

All lathered up with soap, Clarke felt her hand brush along her stomach, which was not quite as flat as it used to be. Flying and visiting Lexa every day didn’t leave a lot of time for exercise. And certainly not the type of exercise that her body craved. 

It was almost difficult, being near Lexa for so long every day. She wanted to touch her, to explore her body and be explored in return. She could feel the tension in Lexa’s body, when Clarke would trace her fingers lower and lower down Lexa’s abdomen. When she clutched at her hip bones. Or when they would kiss forever, and Clarke had to fight every urge in her body to not straddle Lexa and show her just what was in store for her when she recovered.

Drifting lower, her fingers strayed into the coarse hairs that grew between her legs. Clarke knew Lexa was frustrated with their current situation as well, and that frustration had been gathering between her legs for days now. She craved Lexa’s touch most of all, but hers would have to do. 

Her fingers had reached her clit, and her hips rolled into the movement. One day, she wouldn’t be doing this herself. One day, it would be another’s fingers running up and down her opening, pushing against her, quickening her heartbeat. 

She wanted this to be done quickly and began rubbing hard circles against her clit, knowing just what to do to send herself over the edge in a couple of minutes. She was encouraged all the more by the memory of how Lexa’s breasts had felt in her hands all those weeks before. They were just the right size for Clarke to cup all at once, supporting them in her hand, gliding her fingers in circles against them just as she was against herself. 

With her eyes closed as they were, the swishing of the shower curtain took her completely by surprise. 

Even as her one hand remained between her legs, Clarke’s other hand had lashed out without her even thinking about it, fingers clenched into a fist. Her knuckles collided with something hard.

“Ugh!” 

Clarke opened her eyes, almost reluctantly, knowing that this couldn’t be good. She pulled both hands in front of her chest, as if they would be enough to make her decent. 

Chief Sydney lay sprawled on the bathroom tiles and massaged her cheek with one hand. Her skin there was bright red, and Clarke suspected it would be turning a nasty shade of purple soon. She shook her head, as if to gather her senses. But the glare that she finally settled on Clarke was almost heavy enough to knock her back.

“Sergeant Griffin, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the Chief growled.

“Taking a shower, Chief,” Clarke said numbly, pulling the shower curtain in front of her body. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The rest of Chief Sydney’s face turned the same red as where Clarke’s fist had hit her. “You punched me,” she said with indignation.

“I thought you were one of the Afghan workers.” Clarke hadn’t known who it was, but it hadn’t mattered. Anyone who walked in on someone showering deserved a fist in the face.

“ _ You punched me, _ ” the Chief repeated, rising to her feet and rubbing her cheek with her hand. She winced. “And you were showering for over eight minutes, clearly violating a direct order from the Wing Commander to restrict your combat shower to two minutes or less. And you were wasting government resources while you were… pleasuring yourself. ”

“Wait.” Clarke let the shower curtain fall and stood tall in front of her. The Chief’s gaze flickered down, which made Clarke’s skin crawl. She would need another shower after this one. “You came into the shower just to  _ spy _ on me? To time how long my shower was? And what was your plan when you pulled the shower curtain? Were you going to join me?”

“That’s enough, Sergeant,” the Chief seethed. “This is another piece of evidence that I can use against you. You’re not the high-speed Airman that everyone seems to think you are. I have proof. And I know you’ve been visiting the Marine Sergeant.” 

“You don’t know anything,” Clarke spat. She knew the Chief had nothing against her there. This was just more posturing, as were most things for the Chief. 

“I can’t wait to tell the Commander about this. About your wasting of government resources, and about your insubordination. Striking a Chief Master Sergeant won’t be easily forgiven, I assure you. You should know by now how to show respect to your superiors.”

Chief Sydney stepped closer to Clarke, well into her comfort zone, especially since she was naked in front of her. Clarke could smell her breath, and the Chief’s eyes wandered once again. “And you will respect me, whether you like it or not.” 

She took the towel off of the hook and tossed it at Clarke. “Cover yourself, Sergeant. I know you fuck anything with a pulse, but try to have some decency.” 

Chief Sydney turned and sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving a dripping and glaring Clarke behind her. 

This was it. This was what would finally send Clarke off the deep end. This woman was crazy, and she would stop at nothing--not even timing her while she showered--to get even. There was no reasoning with someone like that. She had drunk the blue Kool-Aid and delighted in pulling rank over anything, no matter how trivial. 

Of all the crazy people that they had in charge of their squadron… Didn’t they have a mission? Weren’t they there in Afghanistan to save the dying, heal the wounded, support the warfighter in whatever capacity was needed? Then why did Clarke feel like she was fighting a war against her own people? 

Clarke needed to throw something. The closest object was her shampoo bottle, and she hurled it against the opposite wall. The cap broke off, and shampoo gushed across the wall and floor. 

She would have to clean that up. 

Just another mess in the long list of messes she had to clean up. 


	17. All is Fair in Love and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enemies are vanquished and girlfriends are pleasured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fizzballs! I hope all of you are enjoying season 3 as much as I am. Getting to watch a Clexa fic come to life is actually the best. It's fair to say that we'll die all over again tomorrow night.
> 
> If you'd like to skip over the resolution of all the Chief drama, please skip down a ways. That story line got kinda out of hand, but I had to finish it off. 
> 
> Speaking of finishing off.... ;) ;)
> 
> Only one chapter after this! Wowza!!

Clarke huffed when she arrived in the Aircrew Flight Equipment tent, shutting the door firmly behind her. She had tried (and failed) to get a good night’s sleep after Chief Sydney had barged in on her in the shower. As if she needed more things to have nightmares about.

A1C Monty glanced up at her absent-mindedly from his computer, and then with more concern. “What's wrong?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

There were too many responses to that question for Clarke to choose just one, so she started pacing instead. Her heavy footfalls were the only sound in the tent for a long time.

“Reyes isn't here, if that's who you're looking for…” Monty said with uncertainty.

“I came here for you,” Clarke replied automatically, her pacing only getting faster. Was she really going to ask him to do this? She knew Monty was a smart guy, but if he got caught…

“Okay,” Monty drawled, standing and leaning back against his desk. “Do you mind telling me what's going on, then? Or did you come here just to wear down the flooring?”

Clarke abruptly stopped her pacing. Yes, that had probably been annoying. “I need help,” Clarke managed to say, spreading her arms helplessly. “Kind of illegal help.”

Monty’s face fell, but only for a moment. “Ah. Not just a social visit then. I don't get a lot of those from you lately.”

He hadn’t said it bitterly, but Clarke cringed nonetheless. He was right. They had been a lot closer before all of this had started. She had been spending all of her time with Lexa, and although she didn’t regret it, she needed to remember to make time for her friends.

“I'm sorry, Monty. It's been a crazy few weeks, trust me.”

“Yeah, I know.” He tapped his fingers against the desk in the silence. “How's the girlfriend?”

Clarke stared at him in surprise and groaned. “Does everyone know?”

“No, I don't think so.” He leaned back to take his coffee mug and took a sip. “But you haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“And that’s the problem,” Clarke muttered.

She tried to think if there was another way to do this, as if she hadn’t stayed up half the night considering her options.

She knew she could just let the Chief win. Apologize for hitting her. Stay away from Lexa. Accept that in the Air Force, you can’t always get what you want.

But it wasn’t Clarke’s way to give up. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to fight for it, no matter what it took.

Clarke inhaled deeply, preparing herself. “I need you to hack into Chief Sydney's email.”

It had tumbled out of her all at once, and Monty sputtered the mouthful of coffee he had been drinking. “That's not exactly in my job description. I fix radios, Griffin, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“But you set up everyone's email accounts, right?” Clarke took an excited step toward him. Even with how tired she was, the thought of being free from the Chief was energizing. “And you help with computer maintenance around the squadron?”

“All of that is true,” Monty conceded unwillingly, “but none of that involves hacking.”

Clarke decided not to hold anything back, even if it was embarrassing. “Chief Sydney walked in on me in the shower last night,” she revealed.

“What?” Monty stood up straight, no longer leaning on the desk.

“And I kind of punched her,” Clarke continued, grimacing slightly. “In the face.”

Monty just stared at her, mouth agape for so long that Clarke wondered if his jaw had stopped working. “There are certain people you should definitely not punch in the face,” he finally managed to say. “And she’s one of them.”

“It was an accident.”

The only person Clarke had told so far was Raven. Her reaction had been… enthusiastic. She had been ready to hunt down the Chief then and there, but Clarke finally convinced her that they needed a plan first.

Monty grumbled something to himself. “Your dog eating your homework is an accident. Leaving the toilet seat up is an accident. This is a bit more serious.

“Which is why I need your help.”

Clarke stared at him expectantly, and after a minute his shoulders drooped.

Monty wiped a hand across his face. “So you need me to dig some dirt up on the Chief?”

Clarke nodded. “Anything that I can hold over her head. And I'll owe you a thousand beers when we get back home.”

Monty scoffed at her. “Griffin, I know what kind of beer you buy. No thank you.”

Clarke just stared at him. Was he seriously turning her down because she liked PBR?

Monty hesitated for a long moment before rolling his eyes. “But I'll help you for a thousand gin and tonics.”

Clarke sighed in relief. She knew Monty would help her, one way or another, but he didn’t need to be so dramatic about it.

“Deal,” she said, reaching over and shaking his hand.

Monty tapped his chin in thought again. “Do you just want her email? Because I can probably get more. I'm good like that.”

“More like what?”

Clarke really wasn't the best with technology, or at least nothing like Monty, but she didn’t know the first thing about this. The most complicated tech she was able to handle was Instagram.

“I can get any social media she does,” Monty answered. “Facebook, Twitter, or God help us, Tumblr. That's probably where all the good stuff will be, anyway.”

It was a great idea, but Clarke looked sideways at him. “I don't know whether to be happy or scared that you can do that.”

Monty sat on top of his desk with a wink. “Just be happy I'm on your side. You wouldn't want me to find whatever twelve year old Griffin posted on the internet.”

That was enough to convince Clarke to clean up her Facebook profile later. She glanced down at her watch, startled by how late it was. Her pre flight briefing was in a few minutes. “I have to go, but seriously, thanks Monty. I owe you one.”

“And a thousand gin and tonics, I know. Check back with me after your flight.”

**********

As soon as Chief Sydney was inside the briefing room, Raven slammed the door shut and stood in front of it with her arms crossed, effectively blocking it.

Clarke was in front of the projector screen and pleased to note the confusion on Chief Sydney's.

The Chief blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dark room, and scowled back at Clarke. “What is this? Are we having a movie night?” she asked with scorn. “I forgot my popcorn.”

Raven raised an eyebrow at her. “You're about to get schooled, Chief.”

“Please,” Clarke said officially, gesturing to the one chair in the center of the room. “Have a seat. Class is now in session.”

The Chief glared at the both of them again, but finally sat down, crossing her legs. “This should be good. But be quick about it.”

Raven leaned down and whispered in the Chief’s ear. “That’s what she said.”

But the Chief didn’t have an opportunity to respond, as Clarke hit forward on the computer keyboard and brought up the first slide on the screen. It showed Chief Sydney at her promotion ceremony to Chief Master Sergeant, shaking the hand of her commander at the time.

“Chief Diana Sydney,” Clarke began. “46 years old. From Mobile, Alabama. Single, owner of 2 cats, favorite wine is an $8 red blend from Kirkland Signature. She has had a commendable 22 year career in the United States Air Force, marked by a long string of achievements.”

Clarke hit next again. The PowerPoint now showed a younger Sydney, only a Staff Sergeant, standing close beside an Airman First Class in an office.

Chief Sydney cheeks had gone pale, her skin nearly matching her hair. “You don't have to do this.”

“Yes. Apparently I do,” Clarke said, face hard. The Chief deserved no mercy, and Clarke had no intention of giving her any. “A1C Rossi was Staff Sergeant Sydney's first supervisee. Sergeant Sydney may have been young, but she was not inexperienced. She entangled him in an office romance that, when her own supervisor found out about it, she quickly pinned on the A1C and called harassment. He was transferred, not her.” Clarke paused. “Does this sound familiar, Chief?”

“You've made your point.” The Chief gulped visibly. “Now can I go?”

The Chief made to move out of the chair, but Raven pushed down on her shoulders, forcing her back into her seat.

“Nuh-uh, Chief,” Raven said. “I'm afraid you can’t leave while class is in session.”

Clarke hit next on the PowerPoint. “Next in Sydney's illustrious career, we had another young victim, Airman Hunter. By this time, Sydney was a Technical Sergeant and had honed her skills in fraternizing with her supervisees. Here, she threatened to sabotage his performance report if he didn't accompany her to Florida.”

The slide showed the younger TSgt Sydney in a bikini and a young man in swimming trunks. They were both holding beers.

“What makes this slide so informative,” Clarke continued, “is that Airman Hunter was only 19 at the time, meaning that Tech Sergeant Sydney must have also provided a minor alcohol. Isn't that interesting, Reyes?”

“Very interesting,” Raven agreed, slapping the back of the Chief's chair and making the Chief jump slightly. “So what is that so far? Two inappropriate relationships with someone in her command and enabling underage drinking?”

“Precisely right, Reyes,” Clarke affirmed. “A+ for you!”

The Chief was slouching in her chair, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. “I had some…. Indiscretions as a younger Airman. But that doesn't undermine my current decisions with you, Griffin.”

“Doesn’t it?” Clarke asked, more serious. “Because I think it's difficult to take someone seriously when they have multiple allegations of sexual harassment against them.”

Clarke hit next again, displaying the Chief and a blonde, muscular man in ABUs. “Staff Sergeant White. Accused you of sexual harassment. He was transferred.”

A dark-haired woman sitting at a desk, grinning up at the camera. “Senior Airman Boyle. Also transferred.”

A man standing in front of an F-16 with the Chief. “First Lieutenant Nguyen. Transferred.”

A woman laying in bed, barely covered by the sheets. “Airman Driscoll. Transferred.”

Clarke hit advance one last time, bringing the PowerPoint to another end. To her surprise, the Chief looked… relieved. Was there even more in her past that she was glad Clarke hadn't found?

The Chief smiled up at Clarke, as Raven flicked the lights on. “That's an impressive collection of intelligence,” the Chief admitted. “ But I'm sure you didn't do all of that on your own, Sergeant.”

“I have my methods,” Clarke said vaguely. The Chief didn't need to know that Monty had found it all, especially given her apparent thirst for vengeance. “In light of this information, I was hoping that we could come to an agreement.”

“Yes, of course,” Chief Sydney said. She was much more amiable when she wasn't trying to ruin Clarke's life. “I would like to keep all of this between the three of us, for obvious reasons. I don't think the others would understand that people like us can't exactly control ourselves. It's in our nature.”

It took Clarke a long moment to be able to process her comment, but when she did, she had to fight down the urge to kick the Chief across the room. “I'm nothing like you. I have never harassed anyone, ever. My situation is nothing like what you did to these people.”

“Potato potahto.” Chief Sydney shrugged. “We both got what we wanted, didn't we?”

Raven's glare at the Chief could have set something on fire, it was so heated. “You're fucking disgusting.”

Chief Sydney ignored her. “So what will it be, Clarke? Do you want money? Or some other form of payment to keep you quiet?”

Clarke thought her skin might crawl right off her body, between the way the Chief used her first name and directed a leer at her. “Neither. I only have three conditions that you must agree to, and then we can all pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Only three?” The Chief grinned, like it was the funniest thing in the world to be reminded of her past full of sexual indiscretions. “Let's hear them, then.”

Raven joined Clarke's side. “You think this is a game, Chief? Because we are not fucking around. We will throw you to the wolves without hesitation.”

“Of course this is a very serious matter,” she said, pulling herself together except for a small, smug smile.

Clarke didn't want to know what kind of perverse pleasure she got out of this… or how many times she had been in this situation, having to make backroom deals to save her career.

“Number one.” Clarke stood as straight as she could, willing herself to not be intimidated by anything this woman could say or do. “You will not look at, talk about, or otherwise acknowledge, Sergeant Carey or me ever again. You will not pursue any kind of legal actions against us, now or ever in the future.”

The Chief laughed to herself. “Sergeant Carey. Is that what she has you call her in the bedroom, too?”

“The conditions take effect immediately,” Clarke growled, her anger getting the better of her. “You won’t say her name again.”

The Chief’s smile grew. “And condition two?”

“Airman Reyes and Lance Corporal Blake are also off limits,” Clarke explained, calmer. She couldn’t let this woman get the best of her. “You will have no contact with them at all.”

The Chief looked up at Raven, curious. “That other Marine? But she's so cute.”

Raven took an intimidating step forward, her jaw flexing. “Less talking, more listening, if you know what's good for you.”

The Chief didn’t look impressed and just returned her attention back to Clarke, nodding.

“And the last condition,” Clarke said, steeling herself. “If I find out that you harass anyone else, this PowerPoint will be emailed to everyone--everyone--in the entire Air Force.”

Raven glared down at the Chief. “So for the love of God, try to keep it in your pants,” she sneered.

“So? Do you agree?” Clarke asked with bated breath.

Chief Sydney stared at her for a long time, her eyes betraying nothing. Clarke struggled to maintain eye contact, but she did.

Finally, Chief Sydney rose from the chair and extended her hand to Clarke. “I agree.”

Clarke took it, almost cringing at the feel of their skin touching. “Deal.”

The Chief slid her thumb over Clarke's hand. “It's been a pleasure, Sergeant.”

“I can’t say the same,” Clarke muttered, yanking her hand back.

With a final smirk, the Chief walked care-free from the room, leaving Clarke and Raven in the sudden silence.

“Uggggh.” Raven shook her arms and body, as if she were trying to rid herself of the feeling of being in the same room as the Chief. “I've never really understood the phrase ‘makes your skin crawl’ until now.”

Clarke glared down at her hand where Chief Sydney had touched her. “And I’ve never wanted to cut off my own hand until now.”

“And people think I’m the dramatic one.” Raven wrapped an arm around Clarke's shoulders. “But hey, you know what? It's over.”

“Do you really think so?” Clarke wanted to believe that the Chief was really dealt with, but how could they be sure?

“I think so.” Raven stared at her for a long time, before grabbing her shoulders with both hands and squeezing. “Relax, Griff! Remember what they feels like? Now let's go see our hot girlfriends and celebrate.”

That got Clarke's attention. “Girlfriends? When did that happen?”

“Deployment girlfriend. Don't make it a big deal, Clarke.”

“Uh huh.” But Clarke had seen Raven's big, dorky smile. Deployment girlfriend or not, Raven was happy, and that's what mattered.

Clarke didn't know if she still remembered how to truly relax, but as Raven dragged her out of the room and toward the hospital, she thought she should try.

**********

It ended up being an easier goal than she had first imagined.

Clarke’s proud smile slowly grew when she saw Lexa standing near the window in her hospital room. Her back wasn’t quite straight, and she was leaning against the wall, as if she couldn't quite support her own weight, but Lexa was still on her own two feet.

The bomb was only a couple of weeks ago, but here she was. Lexa never stopped fighting, never gave up. It was just another thing that Clarke admired about her.

“Lexa!” Clarke called out.

The Marine turned to her, her gaze softening. The nickname Sergeant Heart Eyes had never been more appropriate. Had Lexa always looked at her like that? How had Clarke never truly noticed before? She was amazed at how someone could communicate so much through just a glance

Clarke made her way across the room and leaned against the wall next to her. “So you were finally sick of laying in bed all day, huh?” she asked with obvious sarcasm, but she grew more serious. “This is amazing. Look at how much you’ve improved.”

“Come here,” Lexa said, holding out her hand.

Clarke let herself be pulled by Lexa’s uninjured hand until they were standing face-to-face. She felt Lexa’s touch shift to the small of her back, even as the Marine’s other hand was still restrained in the sling protecting her collarbone.

Lexa’s gaze wandered across Clarke’s face. “You’re so beautiful.”

It was almost reverent, and Clarke didn’t know how she had come to deserve someone like this, someone who could see past her flaws and what she had been required to do to survive. To have the woman she loved survive. But here they were, and Lexa was looking at her like she was the most valuable thing in the world.

“Speak for yourself,” Clarke said, and she meant it.

Lexa was radiant. Her green T-shirt and cammies may have fit looser on her than they once had, but even with the remnants of her injuries, Clarke couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She reached up into Lexa’s thick hair that was down loose around her shoulders and glowing amber in the sunlight streaming through the window behind her. She enjoyed the feeling of loose curls, but even better was how Lexa’s eyes fluttered in response to her touch.

Lexa leaned down and rested her forehead against Clarke’s. “I can walk again, Clarke,” she said, with a profound sense of relief. “Not very fast yet, but I can walk.”

Clarke’s heart constricted, knowing how much value Lexa put into being in top physical shape. Lexa had been almost unstoppable before the bomb… and Clarke wondered how she would adjust to having some limitations, even once fully recovered.

“Do you want to show off for me?” Clarke asked her, barely above a whisper given how close they were to each other. “Give me a little twirl?””

“Not really.” Lexa’s arm tightened around her. “I’ve been stumbling around all day. This is better.”

“Smooth talker. I’ll let you get away with it, for now,” Clarke joked, but she quieted as she remembered what she needed to ask Lexa. “I overheard Lieutenant Vie telling you yesterday that you’ll be leaving in a few days. Are you excited?”

Lexa pulled away slightly to look Clarke in the eye. “Yes and no. I’d be more excited if you were coming with me.”

“I won’t be far behind. T-minus 29 days. Not that I’m counting or anything.”

Lexa nodded seriously. “I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay at Walter Reed, but I’ll be very motivated to get out of there and back to California as soon as I can.” She raised her eyebrow in a cocky way. “I might even beat you there.”

Clarke pulled her closer by the hips. “You think so? Are you going to intimidate your collarbone to heal faster?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Lexa said, scowling down at her sling.

Clarke suspected that Lexa was speaking with more confidence than she actually felt. Depending on the type of surgery that she received, Lexa could still need weeks or months of recovery.

“You know you don’t have to beat me out to California,” Clarke reminded her. “I’ll wait for you.”

Lexa nodded, her hand inching its way down Clarke’s lower back. “I know. But the sooner we’re both out there, the sooner we can resume… this.” She gave Clarke’s ass a firm squeeze.

Clarke threw her head back and laughed. Ever since what had happened at Bastion, Clarke felt like she only truly laughed around Lexa. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

“True.” Lexa shrugged one shoulder, her smile growing mischievous. “But sometimes it’s better not to say anything at all.”

“I’m glad you admit that,” Clarke said with a lopsided grin.

She shifted her hands to Lexa’s hips, as they leaned in towards each other. Their lips met chastely enough, but Clarke wanted more--much more--from her girlfriend. She pulled her close, as she slid her tongue into Lexa’s mouth. Good thing she was holding onto Lexa’s hips, because Clarke suspected that she may have been holding her up at this point.

But after a minute, Lexa pulled away and glanced over Clarke’s shoulder at the door. “Is this a good idea? I don’t want your Chief to walk in and find us like this.”

“I… took care of her,” Clarke said, even though she knew it was vague.

She was still trying to shake off how slimy that encounter had left her. And frankly, she’d rather make out with Lexa than waste any more time on the Chief.

But Lexa just raised an eyebrow, and Clarke knew that she would have to divulge more information. Sighing, Clarke told her about Monty’s investigation and how she and Raven had struck a deal with the Chief.

“How do you know she’s going to keep her end of the deal?” Lexa asked, not fully convinced.

“Honestly? I don't.” Clarke pulled her a little closer, hoping that there was some amount of comfort in her touch. “But I have the feeling that she’s made deals like this quite a few times before. She shouldn’t be causing any more trouble.”

“I wish there was more that could be done,” Lexa mumbled as her brow furrowed, not assuaged. “Someone like that doesn’t deserve to be in command at all. She shouldn't be retiring and getting a paycheck from the government for the rest of her life.”

Clarke rubbed her hand up and down Lexa's back, avoiding the spot where some shrapnel had left a large gash that was still tender. “I know. But at this point, I just want to be able to spend time with you until you leave without having to constantly look over my shoulder. Besides, I’ll be leaving a copy of the evidence behind, just in case she gets any more crazy ideas.”

Lexa nodded, even though Clarke doubted she was truly satisfied. Neither was Clarke, but it was the best they had.

She looked up at Clarke under her eyebrows. “So if she’s taken care of, you’re saying that we shouldn’t have any more interruptions.”

Clarke suspected that she knew where this was going. “Besides doctors and nurses and God knows who else.”

“Leave them to me,” Lexa said, leaning down and capturing Clarke’s lips with her own. She lost no time in returning them to the same intensity as before.

Clarke soon let out a moan that was swallowed up by Lexa. The way that Lexa’s body swayed against hers was absolutely addicting, and Clarke didn’t realize when exactly she had backed Lexa up against the wall. She barely had the presence of mind to reach out and pull the blinds closed, just in case. It wouldn’t do to get rid of the Chief, only to be careless and have half of the base ogling them.

Lexa shifted a knee between Clarke’s legs, and the first contact sent a shock of lust through Clarke’s body. She ground down onto it in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Clarke could feel Lexa’s breathing quickening along with her own, hot against her cheeks.

Clarke’s hands had pulled out Lexa’s T-shirt from her cammie pants, and she slid her fingers across Lexa’s hard abs. She wanted to grab, to squeeze, to feel the muscle flex and strain, but not yet--not with Lexa still healing. But that thought was derailed when Lexa held her bottom lip between her teeth and groaned against her, rocking her knee in rhythm with Clarke’s movements.

Reluctantly, Clarke pulled back from their kiss and held her body as steady as she could. It was a ridiculous struggle, fighting against continuing to press down against Lexa’s knee. But she savored how swollen Lexa’s lips already were and that she had made them that way. She couldn’t even imagine what hers looked like right now.

“If you keep kissing me like that, we’re going to have a serious problem,” Clarke said breathlessly.

“What problem would that be?” Lexa asked with feigned innocence, running her hand up Clarke’s thigh. Even through the fabric of her flight suit, it felt electric and made the throbbing between her legs even more insistent. She had to fight the urge to start grinding down on Lexa’s knee again.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Clarke said, voice low.

Her reason was rapidly fading. She wanted this to happen, for everything to quickly get out of hand until they were both gasping and contorting and collapsing from exhaustion, but how could they? The fact remained that they were still in a hospital with hundreds of other people, and that Lexa still wasn’t recovered, even if she was on her feet now. Clarke had already accidentally hurt her more times than she could count over the last two weeks, and she didn’t see her self control getting any better if Lexa kept touching her like this.

Still, Clarke didn’t protest how Lexa’s fingers were continuing their slow journey up her inner thigh. She couldn’t, not when it felt so good and set the throbbing between her legs even more frantic.

“You know how much I want to, but your doctor could come in at any moment,” Clarke said.

Lexa’s eyebrow flicked upward, her lips curling into a grin. “The only one who is at risk of coming at any moment is you.”

Her fingers had finally reached their destination, and Clarke couldn’t stop her hips rolling forward into her hand, craving more contact.

“And besides,” Lexa continued, rubbing Clarke through the flight suit and watching her through hooded eyes, “I know when the doctors make their rounds. We have…” She glanced at the clock on the other side of the room. “37 minutes until they come back. Plenty of time for…”

Lexa tugged the zipper at the bottom of Clarke’s flight suit upward, exposing Clarke’s black underwear under the uniform. Lexa’s fingers slid into the uniform and pushed aside the fabric, making contact with Clarke’s wetness beneath. It only took the slightest touch, and Clarke was already a moaning mess.

Even so, Clarke could see how physically difficult this was for Lexa. She was putting Clarke’s needs above her own, but Clarke suspected that part of the reason Lexa’s breathing was so fast was because of her injuries. All in one day, she had gone from laying in bed to walking to fucking her girlfriend against a wall. She was overdoing it.

With her last shred of rationality, Clarke pulled away from Lexa and removed her hand from her flight suit, earning a confused look. “You’re tired,” Clarke accused, taking Lexa’s waist in both hands again. “I’m basically holding you up right now.”

“I’m fine, Clarke,” Lexa protested, even though Clarke could see the sweat that had broken out on her forehead.

“I believe you,” Clarke said taking her hand. “But we need a change of venue.”

She led her over to the bed, Lexa taking small steps beside her and favoring her right side. But eventually, she managed to sit on the bed with only a slight wince. She rested her back against the headboard and sucked in breaths like she had just run a marathon.

Clarke stood beside the bed, amazed again at how resilient Lexa was. She wanted her to feel strong. She wanted her to feel desirable, no matter what state her body was in.

“You said we had 37 minutes?” Clarke asked. 

If possible, Lexa’s eyes grew even darker as she glanced at the clock and back to Clarke. “34 now.”

Clarke maintained eye contact, as she slowly unzipped her flight suit from the top down. She removed her arms from the sleeves and let the uniform bunch around her stomach. Quirking her eyebrow, she grabbed her tan T-shirt from the bottom and pulled it over her head to reveal her sky blue bra underneath.

Lexa’s eyes slid down to her chest and drank in the sight hungrily.

“Now where were we?” Clarke asked, voice low and husky. She moved onto the bed and straddled Lexa, her breasts right in front of Lexa’s face.

That was evidently too much of a temptation, because Lexa leaned forward to kiss the smooth skin between them. Her hand slipped around Clarke and migrated up her back, fingers tracing soft patterns until she reached the bra clasp. She undid it quickly, and Clarke slid the straps off of her arms.

Clarke couldn’t help but rock forward in Lexa’s lap, when she saw the hungry look in Lexa’s eye as she stared at her breasts. Lexa took one into her mouth and moaned, tongue dancing around her nipple. She grabbed Clarke by the ass and tugged her closer, so that their sensitive cores came into contact.

Clarke leaned into her, Lexa’s arm in the sling between them. But Lexa’s body tightened against her. Clarke pulled away sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, looking down at the sling. “I didn’t mean to--”

The remnant of pain in Lexa’s eyes mixed with the lust there. Lexa tightened her grip on Clarke’s ass and pulled her back with a strength that Clarke never thought she would stop being amazed at.

“We are not stopping right now,” Lexa almost growled.

“But--” Clarke had been afraid of this. She didn’t want to hurt her, as much as her body craved this contact with her. She wanted this so badly that her body was practically screaming, but she needed to put Lexa’s recovery first.

But the slow, large circles that Lexa’s fingers were now doing over her underwear against her clit were making her seriously reconsider. Clarke’s whole body moved with the same rhythm as her fingers. She couldn’t help herself--it was an automatic response, and she only craved more. She leaned forward to place her mouth near Lexa’s ear.

“That’s not fair, Lexa,” Clarke breathed.

Lexa slid her fingers past Clarke’s underwear and slid them through the wetness she found there. “All is fair in love and war.”

Rather than fight it, Clarke shifted her body to give Lexa easier access, and she could almost hear Lexa’s smirk. She was running her fingers up Clarke’s slit, then massaging her clit and repeating the process. Each time left Clarke wanting more, wanting her fingers inside of her, needing to feel her from within.

She breathed hot against Lexa’s neck and rocked down onto her hand, but Lexa only continued to tease her.

“Fuck, Lexa, I need you inside of me,” Clarke groaned against her, kissing her neck hard enough that she was sure to leave a mark.

So when Lexa removed her hand altogether, Clarke pulled back from her neck and was about to fight her.

But Lexa was staring at her with the darkest eyes she had ever seen and put a finger into her own mouth, sucking off Clarke’s arousal. When she held another finger to Clarke, she did the same, and fuck, that did it for her.

She took Lexa’s hand in her own and placed it back between her legs. “Please,” she practically whimpered.

She should have expected it, with how Lexa repositioned herself against her. But the two fingers that entered her all of a sudden made her gasp. She ground down onto them, feeling Lexa getting deeper and deeper inside of her.

Clarke moaned louder than she knew she should in the busy hospital, but there was no way she could contain herself. Her eyes closed, and her hips swayed, and the two fingers were joined by another, Lexa’s palm providing pressure against her clit.

Clarke held Lexa’s face with both hands and brought her into a kiss that, combined with what Lexa’s fingers inside of her were doing, was already making her see stars. Lexa’s rhythm accelerated, and Clarke’s hips responded in kind, grinding down farther and faster and sending pleasure coursing through her.

Lexa broke their kiss and whispered to her. “Are you ready, Clarke?”

She could barely keep her eyes open right now, let alone form a coherent thought. “Yes, fuck. Yes, Lexa.”

And then Lexa’s fingers were curling inside of her, and her thumb was rubbing against her clit, and every sensation that Clarke was feeling was magnified ten-fold.

She let out a strangled cry as the fingers kept pumping within her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but throw her hair back in a cascade of gold as she toppled over the edge, her world reduced to only the pleasure filling her every nerve.

She had no way of knowing how long it lasted, but she found herself slumped against Lexa, her head buried in Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa slowed the rhythm but stayed inside of her, letting Clarke ride it out.

When Clarke felt Lexa’s fingers finally slide out of her, her body gave out a few last shudders. She didn’t even know how there could be any more after that.

“Oh my God,” Clarke said a half dozen times, catching her breath. “Broken clavicle or not, you still got it.”

Lexa looked proudly at the exhausted bundle that she had turned Clarke into. “And that was with one hand. Imagine what I can do with two.”

“You’ll be healed soon,” Clarke said, even as she felt another jolt of pleasure course through her, as Lexa slid a thumb over her nipple softly. Clarke forced her mind to clear enough, despite the almost intoxicating effect that Lexa had on her. “What time do the doctors come back?”

Lexa had been leaning in for another kiss, and her lips brushed against Clarke’s when she answered. “7:42.”

“Perfect,” Clarke said, pulling back from Lexa’s mouth and earning a disappointed protest from Lexa. She loved how much Lexa wanted her, but it was time for Lexa’s moans to be heard down the hospital halls instead of her own. 

Clarke slid off of the bed and stood, Lexa watching her curiously but trusting her fully. When Clarke pulled her gently to the side of the bed by her legs, understanding and desire shone in Lexa’s eyes.

Clarke leaned down and kissed her, as her hands deftly undid the belt around Lexa’s pants. In another minute, she had them unbuttoned and slid down around Lexa’s knees, along with her underwear.

Clarke broke the kiss to look down at her. Despite Lexa’s injury, her legs were still toned and strong. Clarke couldn’t wait to see those legs in a dress. Did Lexa even wear dresses? But that was a debate for a different time, because now, Lexa was looking up at her with the hungriest expression she had ever seen in her life.

Slowly, and with Lexa staring at her the whole while, Clarke kneeled down on the floor and moved both hands over the top of her thighs, thumbs grazing the inside of her legs. That’s all it took for Lexa’s breathing to become ragged and her legs to twitch. Clarke knew they only had a few minutes until the doctors would make their rounds, but it seemed like such a pity to rush this. Next time, she wanted to see how close she could get Lexa just by teasing her like this.

Pushing Lexa’s knees, Clarke lifted Lexa’s legs and rested them on her own shoulders. Lexa practically bucked off of the bed with the move, body trying to force its way closer to Clarke despite her injuries. Her muscles were tight around Clarke’s head, but Clarke just ran her hands along her legs and laid soft kisses along her hard stomach.

“Clarke…” Lexa groaned, her hands bunching in Clarke’ hair and pulling her closer to where she needed her mouth most.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Clarke chided, even as she found that she was starting to lose control herself. Her lips and tongue glided more quickly down Lexa’s stomach and then through the coarse hairs between her legs. Clarke could smell her arousal, and with it her last bit of self-control vanished.

She sucked hard on Lexa’s clit without preamble, which would have caused Lexa to writhe off of the bed if not for Clarke grabbing hold of her legs around her head.

Lexa just called out Clarke’s name, her eyes already closed and hair spread around her shoulders.

Clarke licked all the way up Lexa’s slit, savoring the taste of her and humming in pleasure. The vibrations only set off Lexa even further, and she fairly groaned Clarke’s name.

Clarke sucked and teased around Lexa’s opening, inserting her tongue just enough to make Lexa’s hands run through Clarke’s hair. Clarke knew she was doing something very right whenever Lexa would grab handfuls of her hair, as if she was holding on for dear life.

When Clarke’s tongue was finally fully inside of her, Lexa’s thighs strained tight under Clarke’s hands. Clarke wished she could have seen her face, could have seen her fall, but she kept working inside of Lexa, and the way that Lexa struggled to say her name, high and loud, was well worth it.

Once Lexa’s ragged breathing had slowed somewhat, Clarke kissed the inside of her knee and gently took Lexa’s legs off of her shoulders. She smirked up at Lexa, who was smiling like an idiot at her.

“You’re not a hard woman to please,” Clarke teased.

Lexa gulped another breath. “Lucky for both of us, because Major Jackson will be back soon.”

Clarke had almost forgotten.

Almost.

Reluctantly, she put her bra and T-shirt back on and zipped up her flight suit, before putting her hair back in a bun. Lexa was struggling to pull her underwear and pants back up her body with her one uninjured hand, so when Clarke was done with her hair, she helped her button them and pull her belt tight.

To the pleasant ache that still resonated between Clarke’s legs, it was the exact opposite of what she would rather be doing right then.

Clarke took Lexa in, the swollen lips and the hair sticking to her damp forehead and the rosy glow on her cheeks. “I gotta say, you look like you just had sex.”

“I’m not the only one.” Lexa’s gaze traveled down from Clarke’s eyes, and she winced. “You might want to zip up your flight suit a little more.”

Clarke looked at her with alarm, before crossing the room and examining herself in the mirror on the wall. There, on her neck between her collar bones, was the largest hickey she had ever seen. “Seriously, Lexa?”

Lexa just gave her a smug smile, which Clarke found to be both infuriating and endearing. She zipped her flight suit all the way up, which even so only partially covered it. She would just have to hope that the Major wasn’t very observant.

Clarke had just returned to the chair next to Lexa’s bed, when Major Jackson opened the door and stepped into the room. He nodded in greeting, but his forehead furrowed when he glanced down at Clarke’s throat.

Shit. So much for him not being observant.

But the Major just rolled his eyes and started flipping through the papers on his clipboard.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Carey” Major Jackson began without looking up from the clipboard, “you’re getting out of Afghanistan.”

Clarke exchanged a look with Lexa, the Marine’s eyes cautiously hopeful. “When?”

Major Jackson flipped to another sheet. “Tomorrow. Oh-eight-hundred. You’ll be in Walter Reed 24 hours after that.”

“Tomorrow?” Clarke nearly croaked. “That’s… sudden.”

“Yes, well, you should be happy your _friend_ ”--he glanced down at Clarke’s throat again--”is getting the medical attention she needs.”

“How long do you think I’ll be at Walter Reed?” Lexa asked.

“Hard to say,” he answered. “At least a few weeks, but probably less than a few months. Sorry to be vague, but there’s no way of knowing the backlog of surgeries over there.” He checked his clipboard again. “If that’s all, I have some other patients to see.”

“Thanks, Major.” Lexa watched him as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

“Tomorrow,” Clarke repeated into the sudden silence.

She sat on the bed next to Lexa with a huff. She didn’t even know what to think. She knew she should be happy that Lexa was getting to go home, and that she wouldn’t be in danger anymore, but then why did her chest feel so empty?

“Clarke.” Lexa patted the sheets right next to her, and Clarke laid down, facing her.

Clarke was trying to be happy for her, but it was hard to be, when they were about to be separated again. It felt like they were doing this far too often. Would they ever just be able to live in the same place at the same time and not have to constantly worry about when they next time they would get to see each other would be?

Lexa wrapped her arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her closer. “You heard the Major. It might only be a few weeks. And trust me, if there’s a way to move things along faster, I’ll do it.”

“I know you will.” Clarke felt the panic rising in her, and she was doing her best to fight it down, with partial success. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a steadying breath. “I know I should be happy for you, and I am, but I just…”

Lexa held her gaze with a confidence that Clarke did not and could not feel at that moment. “It’ll be OK, Clarke. Remember when I said we would find each other in California? I have never been more serious about something in my life.”

Clarke nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She slid closer to Lexa. Lexa’s arm wrapped protectively around her, the muscles taut as Lexa held her tightly.

Lexa kissed her forehead. “Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Clarke just burrowed deeper into her embrace in response

They laid there for a long time, holding each other and breathing each other in and listening to the sound of the other breathing.

They had been silent for so long that Clarke thought Lexa may have fallen asleep. “Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice was relaxed but alert.

Clarke shifted to look up at her. “You know I’m getting you back for the hickey, right?”

Lexa’s grip on her tightened, and she leaned down and kissed her. “You better.”


	18. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See ya NEVER, Afghanistan! Clarke and company make the journey back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My heavens! I can't believe I've been working on this story for 10 months. It's been a great journey for me, even if I look back at some of my writing and cringe a little (speaking of which, I'll be going back and improving some of the chapters).
> 
> I hope that these characters have brought you some enjoyment and comfort, and thanks for sticking with me! Seeing your kudos and comments really kept me going.

It didn't matter that Clarke knew it was coming--she still cried out in surprise. 

The water that splashed over her had no right to even be called water anymore. It was ice-cold and made her body immediately seize up. Her teeth started chattering, as she glared at the one who had just flung the bucket of water at her.

“Oh. My. God, Monty,” Clarke barely managed to get out.

Monty just laughed, stepping back to allow the others their chance.

Murphy held two water bottles at the ready, caps off, and he grinned wickedly at Clarke in anticipation. “This is the best part of my job,” he said, dumping them both over her head. 

The “fini” flight was a rite of passage. At the end of a person's last flight before they transferred home or onward to their next duty assignment, they had to be baptized in a deluge of icy water. It probably wasn't the most sustainable use of palatable water in the desert, but it was tradition. 

Raven stepped off the aircraft right behind Clarke, and she wasn't spared from the attack. But she dealt with it better than Clarke did, raising her hands above her head as if it were the first rainfall she had felt on her skin in her life. “We're going home, bitches!” 

Clarke looked over at her and smiled. Their lives hadn’t gotten any easier over the last three weeks. They were both flying almost every day, and the number of injured Soldiers and Marines that they were taking care of was disheartening. Clarke had heard that the end of summer could be brutal, as enemy fighters made one last push against coalition forces before the weather turned. But hearing about it and seeing the aftermath of it were two very different things. And ever injured Marine she saw only reminded her of her injured Marine who was 4000 miles away. Even Octavia was out of Kandahar, having rotated back to Walter Reed Medical Center for further treatment of her burns the week prior.

No, things hadn’t gotten any easier. But it was hard to remember all of that, when Murphy was laughing at Raven shivering in 90 degree weather. Or how 1Lt Bellamy’s wet shirt clung to his muscles, and LtCol Abby stared shamelessly until she too was met with a much-needed ice bath from Murphy and Monty.

No, it hadn’t been easy. And for better or for worse, Clarke would never be the same. 

But one thing was certain: they were going home. 

Clarke, with hair and flight suit dripping, took Raven in a big hug low around her waist and lifted her up, spinning her around in circles. Raven raised an arm in victory and hollered, the equally soaked A1C Wells, 1Lt Bellamy, and Maj Kane joining in. 

They were all going home. 

 

********** 

Clarke’s euphoria about having flown her last mission in Afghanistan (at least for this deployment, she acknowledged with a huff) fueled her desire to finish her outprocessing checklist and finally be allowed to return stateside. She and Raven had been completing their checklists together, but Clarke slipped away to the Aircrew Flight Equipment tent by herself.

Clarke crossed the room silently and slid her out processing checklist across the desk. “I’m returning my weapon and need you to sign this.” 

TSgt Collins looked up at her in surprise, not having heard her come in. His brow furrowed. “Oh. Hi, Clarke.” 

Clarke crossed the room to the clearing barrel and went through the clearing procedures for her pistol, removing the magazine with a loud click. “I know what you did.” 

When he didn't say anything, Clarke returned to the desk and placed the magazine and pistol there. Collins was already a few shades paler than when she had first walked in.

“The photo,” she continued, raising an eyebrow. “ The one you gave to Chief Sydney and Colonel Thelonious. What were you trying to accomplish with that?” 

He raised his chin defiantly. “They deserved to know the truth.” 

Clarke gave him a long, cold stare. She could see the sweat gathering at his brow. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended to be. 

“Do you have any more?” Clarke asked in the same cool voice as before.

Collins blinked. “More… photos?” 

“Yeah. I want them.” Clarke gave him a hint of a smile. “Your photography needs work, but Lexa and I still look pretty good. I'd like them for, you know, posterity or whatever. So do you have any more or not?” 

“Yeah, a few,” Collins confessed, still confused. 

“Then email them to me.” Clarke took her out processing checklist, which Collins had signed. “See you on the other side.” 

He didn’t say another word, as she strode with confident strides out of the room.

It was true that Clarke would never forgive Collins for what he had done. He had caused the whole mess with the Chief, and even if he hadn't shown her the photo, it was beyond creepy that he took the photos in the first place.

But maybe it was just the fact that Clarke was leaving Afghanistan, or that she was looking forward to seeing Lexa in the States at some point. But no matter the reason, Clarke couldn’t find the energy to be angry at him. The Chief was dealt with. Clarke was going to be able to enjoy a long, hot shower in her own home. Lexa was getting better (their communication had been patchy for the last couple of weeks, but Clarke at least knew that she had had her surgery and was in recovery). 

No, Clarke would never forgive Collins for complicating her and Lexa’s life so much. 

But really, at this point, Clarke just wanted to show Lexa a picture of the two of them making out on the dance floor. She smiled, already imagining Lexa’s smirk.

 

**********

Clarke didn't know how she could possibly be this drunk already. But judging by how Jasper was throwing his head back and cackling, she didn't think she was the only one. 

The transit center at Manas Air Base, Kyrgyzstan had a strict two drink limit per person in a 24 hour period. But that rule didn't consider that most people had had little or no alcohol for months, and that those two drinks could be 9% Russian beers that tasted like motor oil and reminded her why vodka was more popular there. 

It had been midnight when they arrived in the transit center, and 4am by the time they had returned all of the gear they had been issued. Still, her crew had decided that drinks were far more important than sleep, and Clarke couldn’t argue with that kind of logic.

This was one of those moments where Clarke felt closest to her crew. Maj Kane, 1Lt Bellamy, Jasper, and Raven all sat around the patio table in their PT gear, shorts showing a lot more thigh than the men were used to. Monty had been able to travel home with them, which had been big news for Jasper. His toothy grin had hardly budged since they had left Kandahar. 

Already on their second round of drinks, their conversation had turned to what they were looking forward to most when they got home. For Clarke, that topic never got old.

“I'm going to catch up on the latest season of Game of Thrones,” Monty said, taking another small sip of his gin and tonic. He had already complained how it tasted like vodka and tonic, but he drank it anyway.

Jasper scoffed. “You’re telling me that after six months out here, where the only thing to do is watch TV, you're going to go home and watch more TV?” 

“Not all TV is created equal,” Monty argued, more passionately than he would have sober. “Game of Thrones is an experience. Even if I've read all the books and know what's going to happen.” 

“Careful, Monty,” Bellamy warned with a smile, “your nerd is showing.” 

“Not like he could hide it if he tried,” Clarke joined in. 

“Oh?” Monty stopped her. “And what will you be doing when you go home, Clarke? Or should I say whom?” 

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. He wouldn't dare. 

And that's how the entire crew speculated about Clarke's love life for a full half an hour. Monty just looked across the table at her smugly. Raven led the charge in ridiculous speculation, implying that Clarke would find an innocent young Airman with three months of service, two brand new Ford Mustangs, and $40,000 debt. Bellamy suggested she wouldn’t be able to stay away from frat boys and their enlightened views on the world. Even Kane, fueled by two 9% beers, didn’t stay out of it like he usually did and observed that Clarke would be more the type to a college bar and impress her classmates with war stories and tales of heroism. 

Clarke didn't interject to tell them that she thought she'd rather not think about certain parts of this deployment, let alone brag about it to civilians. (Or that if she were to brag about this deployment, it would be about Lexa). 

The conversation eventually moved onto everyone else’s plans. Raven created an entire fictitious saga about a soldier named Dick Richardson who was waiting for her back home, but of course no one believed her. Raven eventually winked over at Clarke, because she was the only one who knew her true plans and how they involved a certain LCpl Octavia Blake. They were only planning on grabbing a beer back in California whenever Octavia returned from her medical treatment, but Clarke had a suspicion things would turn into more than just a casual beer date. Raven denied it vigorously, but always with such a suggestive smirk that Clarke didn’t buy it. 

As her crew stumbled away from the bar back to the enormous clamshell tents where their bunks were, Clarke lagged behind. 

“You coming, Griffin?” Raven called back to her, words slurring ever so slightly.

“In a few,” Clarke promised. 

The sky was just beginning to brighten that morning, a slow warming that turned the nearby mountains a soft pink. It seemed far too delicate and pure for a military base. People were preparing to inflict acts of violence or remembering those that they had already inflicted, and yet they were being rewarded with a beautiful sunrise? 

Or maybe none of that mattered now. Maybe the sun just rose and set and it didn't even matter what any of them did anymore. Maybe things just happened, and there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

Clarke wasn't usually like this when she drank--but then again, Clarke usually hadn't killed a man when she drank. Things were never going to be the same.

But if that was the price to pay for being with Lexa, wasn't that worth it? 

Clarke stared at the mountains until she could barely keep her eyes open, then collapsed into her bunk. The fluorescent lights and loud conversations and the memory of how the pistol had kicked back in her hand did nothing to disrupt her sleep.

 

**********

Clarke had only been this exhausted a handful of times in her life. Maybe it was the fact that they had been traveling for over 24 hours, making the long journey from the transit base in Kyrgyzstan to Germany to Washington DC and then all the way to LA and finally Irvine. 

That certainly had something to do with it, but it could also be that Raven insisted that they had to drink as much alcohol as they had time for in each of their layovers. That had meant a lot of airport cocktails (only half of which they'd had to pay for, thanks to their flight suits and Raven's shameless flirting). 

Clarke hadn't even been safe on her flights, when she found Raven sliding a glass of wine toward her in her tray. “Have another glass of freedom, babe.” 

Clarke threatened to pull her sleeping mask down from her forehead over eyes, but Raven's hand stopped her.

“I think I've had enough freedom for one day,” Clarke asserted. “And since when have you called me babe?” 

Raven grinned at her, somewhat drunkenly. Clarke had had a lot over the course of the day, but still not as much as Raven. “Desperate times, babe. Now drink up.”

Raven pouted at her for so long that Clarke finally caved. She had to get up to use the lavatory so often that she had her apology to the civilian guy sitting at the end of their row down to a science. “Sorry, sir, it's been a long day, won't happen again.” (But it did. Four more times.) 

So when Raven's and Clarke's taxi pulled up to Clarke's apartment building in Irvine, Clarke was ready for the world's longest shower (fuck combat showers) and to sleep possibly forever. She didn't even think a nightmare or two could keep her from passing out today.

The sun was setting, sending long shadows and setting the sky on fire. It really wasn't all that different from Afghanistan. Clarke wondered how long it would take her to stop comparing everything to her experiences over there. 

The taxi stopped. Clarke and Raven looked at each other with drooping eyes and greasy hair but still a certain amount of excitement. They were really home.

Raven reached over and pulled her into a bear hug. “We fucking did it, Clarke. It was shit, but we did it.” 

“Would have been easier if you had let me travel half-sober. I don't even remember the last airport.” 

“But where's the fun in that?” Raven laughed, as she looked out the window toward Clarke's building. Her jaw dropped. “Umm Clarke? You might want to stop wasting your time talking to me and get out of the taxi.” 

“What?” Clarke turned her head to get a better look at whatever had caught Raven's eye, but Raven just reached across her and opened the door on her side.

“Seriously, Griffin. Get out of the damn taxi and go kiss your girlfriend.” 

It didn't register immediately, but when it did, Clarke fumbled with the seat belt clasp and stumbled out of the taxi so ungracefully that Raven's laughter rang loudly behind her. 

And even though Raven had informed her that Lexa would be there--that Lexa would be waiting for her there, and Clarke knew that she wouldn’t be wearing a uniform, and she would be beautiful and healing and perfect--Clarke still wasn’t ready when she finally got out of the taxi and laid eyes on her for the first time on American soil. 

Because she was beautiful. She was healing. And she was perfect.

The black skinny jeans clung to her muscular legs, hinting at the strength contained within. The light leather jacket was form-fitting as well, but her neck was revealed by a low tank-top that Clarke couldn’t stop appreciating. 

But her eyes. It had always been her eyes. They had been the first thing Clarke had noticed about her, and they were always so expressive, like all of the walls that Lexa put up came crashing down when she looked at Clarke. Even if Lexa didn’t say a word, and if her expression revealed nothing, her eyes would always tell the story that Clarke needed to hear. 

And those eyes were fixed on her now, overflowing with relief and excitement and a devotion so strong that Clarke found that after doing everything she could to rush to Lexa’s side, she was instead stopped in her tracks, overwhelmed by the raw feeling that she saw in Lexa’s eyes… and perhaps that were reflected in her own. 

But then Lexa said her name in the softest, most overwhelmed voice, and Clarke became undone.

She crossed the distance between them so swiftly that Lexa smiled, small at first but growing into such a radiant look that Clarke was overwhelmed all over again. 

Clarke knew that she should be careful, that Lexa had just had surgery and was probably sore and needed time for her body to heal completely. She wasn’t wearing the cast anymore, but Clarke knew it would take months at least for her to no longer hurt. 

But Clarke couldn’t help herself if she tried. She ran into Lexa with enough force to knock her backwards on the sidewalk and wrapped her arms around her fiercely. Lexa didn’t complain but just hugged her back so fiercely that Clarke wondered how someone who had been through so much could still hang onto her with such determination. She never stopped fighting, and Clarke was so inspired by it. 

Clarke didn’t want to move. She just inhaled deeply, detecting a hint of Lexa’s perfume and held onto her all the tighter. After having been in planes and floating between different parts of the world, being in Lexa’s arms finally made her feel grounded. Like she didn’t have to keep moving. That she could settle down after her months’ worth of travel and living abroad. 

Lexa’s lips finally moved close to her ear, quiet and soft. “Did you miss me, Clarke?” 

It was a ridiculous question, and Clarke felt rather than saw the smile on Lexa’s face.

“What do you think?” Clarke retorted, just continuing to hang onto her and running a hand through Lexa’s hair. It cascaded down her back and was remarkably soft and filled with small braids and smelled so good and Clarke couldn’t get enough of it. 

With her eyes closed, Clarke felt like she was floating away, and Lexa with her, just the two of them, no longer just in Afghanistan or in California but really where it mattered most, and that was with each other. 

“Are you really here? With me?”

Lexa’s words had barely been above a whisper, almost hesitant, as if she was afraid of the response, and Clarke’s heart ached.

She pulled away from their embrace and searched Lexa’s eyes. They were wet with unfallen tears. Even though Clarke was standing right there in front of her, still holding her in her arms, Clarke thought that Lexa didn’t dare to believe that any of this was really happening. 

And Clarke could relate. Some things seemed too good to be true. 

_Lexa, knocked down after the explosion and gathering her senses, being approached by the man with the loaded weapon and murderous intentions..._

_Lexa, laying motionless on the gurney, a hose coming out of her throat and her skin pale as milk, poised on the brink between life and death…_

_Lexa, unconscious in the hospital bed, the methodical beeping of the heart rate monitor filling the room just as much as Clarke’s disbelief that this had happened to her Lexa, after she had promised to keep herself safe, to come back to her…._

“Clarke?” 

Clarke’s attention returned to the present, and Lexa stared at her with concern. 

They had overcome so much to make it to this moment, and Clarke was just as overwhelmed as Lexa. 

“I’m here,” Clarke finally managed, placing a gentle hand on Lexa’s cheek. A teardrop had been gathering in her eye for so long now, that it was only inevitable that it rolled slowly down Lexa’s cheek, Clarke wiped it away with her thumb. “And so are you.”

And then words were no longer adequate. Clarke pulled her gently towards her, their lips meeting and communicating everything that they were struggling to express to one another. Clarke was so desperate for her, and Lexa met her just as greedily. 

Only the sound of her bags being dropped onto the sidewalk behind her distracted Clarke enough to finally break away. She looked behind her to find Raven closing the trunk of the taxi and waving at her. 

“You might need these, ya know?” Raven called to her from the road. “I’m heading out. Hey Lexa, looking good! How’s the shoulder?” 

Lexa shifted to Clarke’s side and wrapped an arm around her waist. It was the most comforting feeling in the world. “I’m doing great now,” she said, with a meaningful glance down to Clarke. 

It was so sappy and perfect that it filled Clarke’s stomach with warmth, but Raven just laughed at them from the taxi. “I’m sure you are,” she said, sliding into the taxi. “See you at work tomorrow, Clarke!”

Clarke just groaned, leaning into Lexa’s side. Going back to work was the last thing she wanted to do the next day, but she and the rest of her crew needed to inprocess before being able to take their two weeks of R&R. 

They both waved as the taxi pulled out of the parking lot, then Clarke looked up expectantly at Lexa. “How about we get out of here?” she asked with a suggestive flutter of her eyebrows.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Lexa returned, her grin brighter than Clarke thought the sun ever could be. 

Clarke had to spend several minutes convincing Lexa that she didn’t need help to carry her bags, which became somewhat comical when Clarke labored up the three flights of stairs to her apartment with a duffel bag on her back and in front of her and with another bag draped across one shoulder. Still, by the time they reached her floor, and Lexa was huffing just as much as she was, Clarke was happy with her choice to carry her bags herself. Lexa’s willingness to help her outweighed her physical ability to do so, it seemed.

But then Clarke was dropping the bags inside of her apartment with a loud sigh. “If I never need to carry 100 pounds of equipment with me ever again, I’ll be a happy woman.” 

But Lexa just hummed in response, her eyes gliding across Clarke’s apartment 

Everything was exactly as Clarke had left it, plus a thick layer of dust: the small kitchen, adjoining living room with couch and TV and a small deck with a none-too-exciting view of the parking lot. 

Everything in the apartment was the same, and yet Clarke knew that she was different. 

And not alone--that was certainly a twist that Clarke hadn’t expected when she had walked out of that apartment to deploy to Afghanistan 182 days before. Watching Lexa slowly take in her apartment was a better homecoming than she could have possibly imagined.

“It’s not much to look at,” Clarke said with some amount of embarrassment, as Lexa continued her analysis. 

But then Lexa looked over at her and smiled. “I disagree,” she said, looking down meaningfully at Clarke’s lips. 

“Smooth talker,” Clarke criticized, even as she leaned up toward Lexa for another kiss. This one was different than the first, lighter and less bittersweet, but it left Clarke no less flustered. 

Lexa smiled into the kiss eventually, saying “Why do you taste like wine?”

“Exactly why you think,” Clarke said, trying to shut her up, as she was not ready to be done kissing her yet. She pulled Lexa closer by her belt loops, shifting her close enough for their bodies to melt together.

“Did Raven get you drunk on the trip back?” Lexa managed to ask, even as Clarke was doing her damndest to give Lexa something else to do with her tongue. 

Clarke just kissed her harder in response, and her distraction techniques must have been working, because Lexa didn’t ask her any more questions after that and instead clung to her with something that Clarke thought might be akin to desperation. 

When Clarke finally pulled back, out of breath and just a little bit dizzy and definitely not from the wine Raven had made her drink before, Lexa looked just as unsteady as her. 

Clarke grinned up at her, savoring the look of her full lips that were already swollen with her attentions. “You beat me back to California,” she said, still amazed.

Lexa shrugged as if it wasn't even a question that she would arrive there first. “Told you I would. And I don’t break my promises.” 

The sincerity with which Lexa said it made Clarke’s knees go weak. If Lexa was anything, she was dependable. She was devoted. And Clarke had never had someone say these things to her--and mean them. And there was no doubt in Clarke’s mind that Lexa meant them. 

“How long can you stay?” Clarke asked, knowing full well the double meaning in her words. 

But Lexa’s stare never wavered, and in fact became even more resolute. “As long as you’ll have me.” 

Clarke smiled at that, not even knowing how she deserved someone like Lexa. But here she was, after being in a fucking explosion, standing tall and proud, strong and fierce and yet so fragile. 

“Think you can help me with something?” Clarke asked, trying not to smile but failing.

Lexa looked at her suspiciously but nodded anyway in the end. 

“I’ve been traveling for the past two days and could really use a bath,” Clarke began, carefully watching Lexa’s reaction. As soon as she said bath, Lexa watched her more intently than ever. “But I have a hard time reaching some places.” 

Lexa gulped visibly, but Clarke was otherwise impressed by how well she was holding herself together. “Like where?” 

Clarke took one of Lexa’s hands and rested it firmly on her ass. The movement closed the small distance between them. 

“Like here,” Clarke continued innocently, watching Lexa’s eyes glance down to her lips. Taking Lexa’s other hand, Clarke placed it squarely on her chest. “And here. I just can’t reach, no matter what I do.”

“Hmmm,” was all Lexa had to say, as she cupped and squeezed and was generally all too engaged with Clarke’s body to answer her. 

“So is that a yes?” Clarke asked in a low voice that she knew was too sultry for Lexa to ignore.

Lexa just pulled her closer, their lips meeting and pushing and pulling, all the while Lexa’s fingers slipped to Clarke’s flight suit zipper and slowly pulled it down. 

They both became more and more undressed on the short journey to the bathroom, kissing and laughing and generally acting more like two teenagers in love than two war veterans who had just returned from duty. But as soon as Lexa was down to just her black bra and underwear, Clarke’s wide grin became more somber. 

Even though it had been more than a month since the explosion, her body was still criss-crossed with the effects: a deep purple bruise across her stomach, partially-healed cuts that criss-crossed her flesh, and of course a fresh wound across her clavicle where the surgeons had cut not long ago.

Clarke ran her hand tenderly down Lexa’s side, over wounds that she had so callously been grabbing at before in her enthusiasm to see her. “I’m sorry…” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Lexa said, holding Clarke’s hand on her side with her own. “I’m healing well.” 

And even though Lexa’s words were so positive, Clarke could tell that something still bothered her. Maybe she was healing, but would she ever be healed? 

But worries about that, and about much of anything else, quickly dissipated when the bath was filled with water that was too hot for either of them to plunge their bodies into all at once, so they dipped in a single toe at a time and teased each other about how slow the other was. But when they were both finally in the water, the bath water smelling of roses, Clarke leaning back into Lexa’s lithe yet muscular frame, Lexa’s hands massaging her scalp with shampoo and then rubbing slow circles into her back with strong fingers, Clarke couldn’t help but feel like life truly couldn’t get any better than this. 

“Tell me about Walter Reed,” Clarke said, referring to the medical center where Lexa had been staying. She just wanted to hear Lexa’s voice, and hear about what she had been doing, and what she wanted to do in her life, and her dreams and fears and really just everything about her. But they could start there. 

Lexa's voice washed over her much like the hot water of the bath. She told her about the doctor who smelled like cabbage; the patient next to her who had delayed her release by a month, just because she liked the nurse that served them their meals everyday; how Octavia had arrived a couple of weeks after she did and had challenged her to a daily Monopoly game with some other Marines (Lexa never wanted to play the game ever again); and, in a quieter voice, how one of the amputees would wheel himself to the gym and just watch the other patients walk around the track and play basketball. 

(Clarke wondered what she had been doing at the gym, right after her surgery when she couldn't be doing any of those things either. But she didn't ask.)

She was so relaxed, and Lexa’s hands felt so good, and the water was just the right temperature now, that Clarke felt herself yawn so deeply that her entire body shuddered. 

“Tired, Clarke?” Lexa teased, kissing the side of her forehead and making Clarke sigh in contentment. 

Clarke meant to deny it, because she really had so much more to ask Lexa and so much more to do to Lexa, but the second yawn that wracked her made that argument less than convincing. 

“I can’t be this tired,” Clarke said. “It’s what… 7:30? That’s pathetic.” 

“Not for someone who just got back from Afghanistan,” Lexa reminded her.

But Clarke couldn’t sleep, not yet. Not with the water still so warm, and Lexa’s arms wrapped around her, and how the water seemed to wash away all of the worries and trials of Afghanistan off of her. 

But too soon for Clarke’s liking, Lexa was tugging her out of the now lukewarm water and grabbing a towel from the rack. Lexa tried to wrap it around Clarke’s shoulders, but she winced and swore under her breath. 

“You OK, Lex?” Clarke asked, taking the towel and drying off her hair with a frown. 

“Yeah, fine,” Lexa said as she caught her breath. She avoided looking at Clarke when she said it.

Lexa’s shoulder was obviously still sore, but she liked to pretend that her body was fine, that everything was healing and that she could do everything that she used to do. But Clarke knew that wasn’t quite true, at least for now. 

“How much does it hurt?” Clarke asked quietly, taking Lexa’s hand in her own and tugging at her until Lexa finally met her gaze. 

It took a minute for Lexa to find the right words. “Not enough for you to worry about it.”

“That’s not the most convincing thing you’ve ever said,” Clarke chided. “Listen, Lexa, you can be honest with me. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m fine, really.” Lexa smiled, but Clarke thought it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

If Lexa couldn’t lift a towel around her shoulders, then how was she going to lift her duffel bags up the stairs? And what else had she already done for Clarke that had hurt her, but she was unwilling to say it?

Clarke thought for a moment. “Did it hurt you while you were washing my hair?”

Lexa didn’t answer but just looked around the bathroom, suddenly very interested in the soap dispenser, the toothbrush holder, and seemingly anything except Clarke. 

Clarke took both of Lexa’s hands, their towels crumped up on the floor and forgotten. “Lexa. Look at me.”

It was the second time that day that Clarke had seen tears in Lexa’s eyes, but this time was different. This time, it wasn’t the joy of seeing Clarke again that had brought them there. This time, they were underlain with such grief that Clarke could barely stand it when Lexa’s eyes locked with her own again.

Clarke placed a soft kiss onto the surgery scar on Lexa’s shoulder. “You know I’ll love you no matter what, right? And that I don’t think less of you for what happened?”

Lexa’s arms wrapped around her in response, their bodies coming together, still wet from the bath. Clarke nestled her head into Lexa’s neck and hugged her, this time careful to avoid squeezing the part of her back still covered in bruises. 

“Thank you, Clarke.” 

It was so soft, so shaky, that Clarke’s heart for her broke all over again. But she just needed Lexa to know that, injured or not, she was hers. 

She took Lexa’s chin and pulled her down into a kiss, where she tried to communicate all of that and more. Clarke didn’t know when she started leading Lexa away from the bathroom, or how they fell down together onto her bed, or how her need to tell Lexa how much she loved her translated into showing her how much she loved her, more than once, and how they collapsed back onto the sheets, panting and sweaty and curling back into each other, because even a single moment apart seemed like too much.

Clarke, arm around Lexa’s shoulder holding her close, fingers idly playing with a curl of Lexa’s chestnut hair, felt her eyelids droop and her breathing slow, as Lexa traced idle patterns across Clarke’s stomach.

Just when Clarke thought she couldn’t feel more relaxed or content, she felt Lexa curl impossibly closer into her side, and her fingers stopped their patterns to hold her tightly. 

“Clarke?” Lexa said, her voice not nearly as sleepy as Clarke knew hers would be, but all she could manage was a hum in response. 

“Welcome home,” Lexa breathed against the skin of her neck, kissing her pulse point 

And with Lexa’s warm breath on her skin, and their limbs tangled together, and their breathing falling into sync, Clarke knew that it was true.

In Lexa’s arms, she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I have a few story ideas kicking around in my head for what to work on next, but this show also makes my heart hurt now and I may have to redirect to other interests. Still, I love that, no matter what happened in the show, Clarke and Lexa can continue to offer inspiration in the stories that we all write for them. This fandom has already accomplished so much, and I can't wait to see what we'll do next! 
> 
> <3 Kirsten


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